


the end of being alone

by rexcorvidae



Series: blow us all away [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bullying, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Epistolary, Female Friendship, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harri has Baggage surrounding her hair/hair care in general and who can blame her, Harry Potter Has Abandonment Issues, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Indian Harry Potter, Indian Potter Family (Harry Potter), Internalized Misogyny, Letters, Percy Weasley is a Good Prefect, Remus Lupin Has Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Tags will be added as we go, Teenage Drama, that isn't already a tag? you absolute cowards, we been knew but still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexcorvidae/pseuds/rexcorvidae
Summary: When Harriet Potter asks Hagrid questions about her parents that he doesn't know the answers to, he directs her to one of their old friends, and in doing so changes the course of history.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Parvati Patil & Harry Potter, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter
Series: blow us all away [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966354
Comments: 132
Kudos: 488





	1. august 29th, 1991

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to do an epistolary fic for a long time and i decided to treat myself! gonna try to update once a week on sundays
> 
> also more fem!harry because i want more fem!harry content that isn't focused on shipping and if i have to make it myself then so be it!
> 
> not sure if the whole fic will be epistolary or if i'll throw in more prose as it goes on, so the tags may change
> 
> thanks to [aloneintherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/profile) for beta'ing!!

At an orderly house, on a quiet street, a baby is left on a doorstep. Ten years later, that baby is a child in a cupboard under the stairs, and a letter addressed to them is dropped through the mail slot. This letter is discarded, but more arrive by the day – shoved in the cracks around the front door, crammed into eggshells, and sent down the chimney. At a tiny hotel, a pile of them appear at the front desk, bewildering the attendant who had only turned around for a moment. And finally, at a run-down shack by the sea, an ancient door is broken down, and a man who might have been a giant (if, of course, you were the type to believe in such nonsense) placed the letter, finally, in the hands of its recipient. 

_ Dear Miss Potter, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed… _

_ - _

In a small room, cluttered with old, broken toys, an eleven-year-old girl ties a letter to the leg of an owl. The bird is incredibly patient, despite the girl’s shaking hands, and doesn’t even bite her when she ties the knot too tight – she’ll learn.

“Okay,” The girl says, pulling away and running a hand anxiously through her already messy hair, “So, you’ll be able to find him?”

The bird ruffles her feathers, impatient to get in the air, but otherwise does not respond. The girl seems to expect this and slumps. “Right. Couldn’t send letters with _boa constrictors_ , could they?”

Now, the bird is patient, but this bit of rudeness cannot stand. She flaps a bit more aggressively and snaps her beak at the girl. “Sorry. Just, uh- make sure you get back before school starts, yeah? I don’t fancy going alone.”

The girl’s voice shakes a little at the end, and the bird allows her to gently stroke her head-feathers, and even gives her a gentle nip. It is odd to have a human that doesn’t know all these things already, but the bird (Hedwig, the bird decides, is acceptable enough for a name, even if she thinks the girl could have been a bit more creative) will take it in stride.

The girl is getting nervous again, so Hedwig decides to demonstrate how good she is at her job. The bird departs through the window with a letter, clumsily tied with a piece of yarn pulled out of a jumper, and the girl watches at the window until the white bird becomes a distant spot, and then a smudge, and then nothing.

She sits down at a small, rickety desk, and picks up another letter. It's marred with blotches and smears of ink, and several parts are scratched through entirely, with corrections added in the margins. She reads through it once more, though it’s too late to change anything now.

Taking a shaky breath, she rests her arms on the desk and pillows her head on top of them, staring out the open window until finally her eyes close and don’t open again.

Tucked safely under her arms, the corner of the letter can do little more than flutter in the draft.

_Dear ~~Mr. Remu~~ Mr. Lupin,_

_~~ I am ~~ _

_~~ My name is Harriet Lil ~~ _

_ My name is Harriet Potter. My parents were Lily and James Potter, and I will be starting Hogwarts this September. _

_~~ I’m not supposed to ~~ _

_~~ Aunt Petunia doesn’t talk about ~~ _

_I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t know a lot about my parents, and when Mr. Hagrid ~~(he works at Hogwarts)~~ took me to get my school supplies, and he said that you might be able to answer some of the questions I had that he didn’t know the answers to._

_~~ If you don’t want to ~~ _

_~~ I understand if you’d rather not ~~ _

_If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would really appreciate it if you could tell me some things about them. What did they look like? Does my dad have any magic family? Why was my mum a witch, but not Aunt Petunia? ~~Why did they leave me with~~ What did they like to do? ~~What if I’m not really magic~~_

_What were they good at in school? ~~Did they love~~ Did they know about magic before they got their letters? ~~Are there any pict~~_

_ If you don’t want to talk about my parents, is there anyone else I could ask? _

_~~ Thank you for ~~ _

_~~ Sorry about ~~ _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Harriet Potter _

_ - _

In a cramped studio apartment, a man is woken by the sound of rapping at his window. This is unusual - he’d canceled his subscription to the Prophet months ago, and didn’t have anyone who ought to be writing to him since he’d taught his father how to use his mother’s old muggle landline. Odder still, no one he knows has an owl that looks like the one currently tapping at his window.

After a moment’s hesitation, he lets the bird in, watching it warily as it soars over to his kitchen table and ruffles its feathers importantly.

Pausing now and again to glance back at the bird, he fills a bowl with water and places it on the table, before untying the letter. Sleep makes him clumsy, and it takes him three attempts and a rather hard nip on the finger before he’s able to retrieve it.

“Toast?” He offers apologetically. The bird coos at him, which he takes as acceptance. As he pads around the kitchen putting the toast on, he opens the letter.

He drops the butter knife in his hand. Without taking his eyes off the letter, he stumbles over to the table and sits down heavily. He lets out a huff of air, and then another, and before he knows it, he’s laughing, even as his eyes grow watery.

Seeming to realize something, he suddenly stands and races over to a calendar on the wall, barely pausing to curse before dashing over to a cramped closet tucked into the corner. He digs around frantically, before returning to the kitchen table with a handful of pictures. Mindless of his shaking hands, he begins to write.

_~~ Hazza, ~~ _

_ Dear Harriet, _

_ I can’t tell you how happy I am to receive your letter. Happy belated birthday, by the way! _

_ Yes, I knew your parents when we were in school. Your mum and dad were some of the best friends I ever had, and I would be happy to tell you about them. _

_ I’ve enclosed some photographs of them (and you!), but I have plenty more in storage, so please let me know if you’d like to see more. Your father’s family emigrated here from India quite some time ago, and from what I understand they tended to be extremely talented witches and wizards. Your grandfather, Fleamont, was quite the potioneer, and Euphemia (your grandmother) had a passion for ancient runes – you won’t be able to take that class until your third year, but it’s a terribly fascinating subject. _

_ Sometimes a witch or wizard can be born to two muggle parents without any family history of magic at all. We don’t really know why, or why one child might be born with magic while another isn’t, but it’s not terribly uncommon.  ~~ And no matter what anyone ~~ _

_In school, you might encounter ~~blood puris~~ other students who look down on witches and wizards that are muggle-born, or who have any muggle ancestry at all. You should know that’s all rubbish. Muggle-born and half-blood (witches and wizards born to one muggle parent and one magical) students are just as powerful as so-called “pure-bloods”, and don’t let anyone tell you differently._

_ I knew your father better than your mother, but I’ll do my best to tell you about them both. Your father was an incorrigible troublemaker, and one of the bravest men I’ve ever known. He loved flying and was the chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team from our 2 _ _ nd _ _ year on. I suppose flying at your aunt and uncle’s would have been a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, but I strongly encourage you to give it a shot when you start school!  ~~ You rode your first broom nearly a decade ago, but if I recall ~~ _

_Your mother was incredibly kind, and fierce in her defense of those who needed it – she had a temper to frighten a hippogriff! She loved chess – wizarding and muggle – and was the champion of Gryffindor three years running (though there were a few Ravenclaws that had her beat), and she was one of the most talented duelists I ever met. ~~She saved my life more than a few times during the w~~ She also used to collect records – her favorite band was Joy Division, although your father was more partial to The Velvet Underground. I doubt you’ll remember this, but when you were a baby, you would only fall asleep when they played The Beatles for you – much to their dismay!_

_ Her record collection should be in your Gringotts vault, along with more pictures of them – although, in retrospect, I probably should have thought to send their things to your aunt and uncle earlier. I imagine trying to navigate Gringotts would be rather overwhelming for muggles. _

_Both of your parents were brilliant, but your father was exceptionally skilled at transfiguration. ~~There’s no way to know for sure, but I believe he was the youngest to~~ You’d think that would have made him a favorite of the transfiguration professor, but I think she was torn by his tendency to use that skill to get into mischief – I won’t repeat any episodes here for fear of inspiring you before the year has even started, but if you’re still curious, ask me again after you’ve met McGonagall – she’s the transfiguration professor, and deputy headmistress – so you at least know what you’re getting into._

_Your mother was amazing at potions, which made your grandfather quite fond of her, although her true passion was charms. ~~She planned to spend a few months abroad studying when the war was over, but~~ I’m sure someone has already told you this, but muggle technology tends to malfunction around magic – anything using electricity, really. Your mother had already made incredible strides learning to enchant muggle objects to be compatible with magic – by our seventh year, she had managed to get the record player her parents got her to work in the dorms, and our charms professor was so impressed that he went out and bought his very own record player and asked her to show him how to enchant it! For a man who very likely hasn’t even seen a pound since long before you or I were born, this was no small feat._

_Your father grew up with magic, but your mother wouldn’t have known about it at all until she was about your age – before then, she just knew she could make odd things happen. She had ~~a friend, named Severu~~ a friend, whose mother was a witch – when he saw your mother using magic, he told her all about Hogwarts, and she got her letter not long after._

_ You must be so excited to start! When I was a child, I could hardly wait to turn eleven, and I’m sure you’re especially eager to meet people like your parents. Hagrid is a wonderful person, and I’m glad he was able to accompany you on your school shopping ~~ , though I wish I had thought to ask ~~ _

_ Please, don’t worry about bothering me. I was thrilled to receive your letter, and I’d be very happy if you wished to continue writing.  ~~ I’m sorry I never ~~ _

_~~ I know I should have ~~ _

_ If there’s anything you need or any questions you have, please let me know. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Remu _

“Shit!” The young man only notices the smell of smoke when he receives a hard nip on the ear from the snowy owl still sitting on his table. Cursing, he drops the quill and rushes to the stove to rescue what remains. Somewhat sheepishly, he tears the burnt toast up into pieces and puts it on a saucer for the bird, who levels him with an extremely unimpressed look before deigning to accept his offering.

With a sigh, he sits back down at the table with his quill, while burnt toast crumbs fall on the corner of his letter.

_ Remus Lupin _

_~~ P.S. you were probably too young to remember this, but you used to call me “Uncle Moony”. If you’d like ~~ _


	2. september 1st, 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took longer than expected! think i'm gonna try to update this every two weeks? we'll see how it goes!
> 
> EDIT: im a clown, ty to [fae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoLynx/pseuds/CalicoLynx) for being my beta for this chapter!!!

The Gryffindor common room is crowded and noisy, and though the din makes her nervous, Harriet is grateful for the cover it gives her. After a fairly long-winded speech from Percy about rules and responsibilities, the other Gryffindors had _swarmed_ her. 

“Did you really defeat You-Know-Who?”

“Can I see the scar?”

“Is it true you’ve been living with muggles?”

Their questions were innocuous enough, but for Harriet, who had spent the better portion of her life doing her best to go unnoticed, the sudden scrutiny was a nightmare.

She’d stood there with her mouth gaping like a fish, when someone from across the common room shouted, “And who would like to meet our new mascot?”, followed by a series of delighted shrieks. All eyes were quickly redirected to the massive tarantula that a boy with dreadlocks (Lee, Harriet thought) was coaxing out of a box.

Still rooted to the spot, Ron had grabbed her arm and hauled her to a forgotten armchair in the corner. She’d hoped he would stay, but with a glance in the general direction of Lee’s spider, he excused himself to the dorms, white-faced. 

Harriet sinks down in the armchair nervously, but the excitement in the air quickly dies down. Like a switch being flicked, the squeals die down and Harriet is forgotten in favor of catching up with old friends.

From across the room, she’s almost positive one of the Weasley twins (she really should learn how to tell them apart) shoots her a wink. 

Finally given a moment to breathe, Harriet finds herself warm and giddy. She was _here_. This – all of this – was real. Words from a letter still tucked safely in her chest run through her head.

 _I’d be very happy if you wished to continue writing_.

Normally, she would dismiss this as politeness – since when did anyone ever want to talk to _her_? – but the last dregs of adrenaline make her brave. The table next to her has parchment and quills marked for student use, so with a deep breath, Harriet begins to write.

_Sept 1_ _ st _

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

_Thank you so much for sending the pictures! Aunt Petunia always says I look too much like dad, but I never knew how much! I never knew mum had red hair, either – I always assumed she was blonde, like Aunt Petunia. ~~She said they were unemployed, b~~ It sounds like they were really smart! Did they have jobs? You met them at Hogwarts, right? What were they like back then?_

_I promise I’ll send the pictures back soon! But Percy (he’s the prefect) says that if we need to send a letter tonight we should use one of the school owls, so ours can spend the night getting used to the grounds, and Ron (he’s Percy’s little brother, he’s in Gryffindor too) said that the school owls get lost sometimes, so I’ll send them once Hedwig gets back._

_I still can’t believe I’m here - a few hours ago I was worried I wouldn’t even be able to get on the train!_

_After I got to King’s Cross, I realized I had no idea how to get onto the platform – I’ve never seen Uncle Vernon look so smug in my life! He thinks all this magic stuff is nonsense (which doesn’t make any sense, because Aunt Petunia had obviously told him about it before my letter came) and I think he was hoping that this was all some big joke._

_And of course, the station guard had no idea what I was talking about, and the Dursley’s had already left, and it was nearly 11 o’clock and I was starting to wonder how I could even get back to Surrey with nothing but ~~regul~~ muggle money – but then I heard Mrs. Weasley!_

_She’s Ron’s mum. I heard her talking about muggles, so I asked for her help, and she showed me how to get onto the platform. I would have thought she was trying to trick me, but I saw Ron’s brothers go through first (he has five_ _brothers, and a sister!) ~~Did mum and dad ever want~~_

_After that, I was just relieved to get here. Still, I think they really ought to include instructions on how to get onto the platform in the letters._

_Anyways, Ron’s brilliant! He and I rode in the compartment together and he told me all about Hogwarts and chocolate frog cards and the different houses! His brother Percy seems a bit bossy, but his other brothers (Fred and George) seem nice? They helped me with my trunk on the train._

_The Sorting went loads better than I expected - Fred and George told me and Ron that we’d have to wrestle a troll!_

_~~The hat said~~ _

_~~What if I’m not supposed to be~~ _

_I’m a Gryffindor! Hagrid says mum and dad were Gryffindors too, so I’m glad to be in the same house as them, but honestly, I would have been fine with any house that wasn’t Slytherin._

_We met this boy on the train named Malfoy, and he was sorted into Slytherin, and he’s awful. He tried to pick a fight with Ron and me because he said Ron’s family wasn’t the “right sort” and when I tried to tell him to leave he said ~~something about how I would end up like mum and dad~~ something else rude, ~~and that he “wasn’t going to hit a girl”. I told him that that wouldn’t stop me~~ , but Hermione came in and told him off before anything could happen._

_Hermione is a first-year too, and she got sorted into Gryffindor with me and Ron. He thinks she’s a bit bossy, but she seems nice to me – she helped a boy on the train find his toad, and she fixed my glasses! She says she’s already learned all her books by heart, and even practiced a few spells._

_Ron says we don’t need to do all that because no one knows anything when they get to Hogwarts, but I think I’m going to read over my books again at breakfast tomorrow, just in case._

_That reminds me, no one told me how good the food was here! There was Yorkshire pudding, and pork chops, and mashed potatoes, and sprouts, and we all got to eat as much as we wanted! Percy says that the food is always like that here, but that can’t be right, can it? I’ve never been so full in my life! And the dorms are fantastic!_

_I think that if I’d even tried to fly on a broomstick at Privet Drive, ~~Uncle Vernon would have~~ Aunt Petunia would have gone mad! She wouldn’t even let Dudley get a magician for his birthday. Ron says flying’s awesome, though, and we have a lesson next Thursday so I’m really excited to try it!_

_Thanks again for responding. I’m sure you’re busy, so if you don’t have time to write a lot, I understand!_

~~-~~

“First years, with me please!” Percy calls over the din, “We’re going to the Owlery, so if you have a letter you want to send take it with you. The rest of you are coming too-” He raises his voice over a resounding groan, “The rest of you are coming too, I won’t have you lot wandering the castle and getting lost. When we get back it’s straight to bed, do you understand?”

With a jolt of urgency, Harriet returns to her letter. After a moment of hesitation, she crosses out the last few lines she’d written, and adds a quick sign-off.

_~~On the train, Malfoy said~~ _

_~~Why did Vol~~ _ _~~Why did You-Know-Who kill~~_

_I’ve got to go – Percy is about to take us to the Owlery so we can get up in time for classes tomorrow. Wish me luck!_

_Sincerely,_

_Harriet_

-

After he’d sent his letter to Harriet, Remus told himself very firmly not to expect anything in return. He was a stranger to her, after all, and (he reminded himself as he thought through the letter he’d sent in such haste), probably a rather odd one. Petunia and her husband had taken her in, he didn’t have a right to expect any kind of relationship with her after a decade without contact.

Still, when he spots the owl soaring towards his window, his heart does a funny little stunt in his chest, and he realizes, a little dazed, that he’s smiling.

He’s quicker to set out food and water this time, and though the bird isn’t the same snowy owl that had brought her last letter, her slightly shaky cursive on the outside is unmistakable.

Though his smile is wide when he opens the letter, it slowly slips off his face as he reads. While the last time he’d gotten a letter from Harriet, he could barely slow down long enough to find the pictures to send her, this time he agonizes over his response, frequently referring back to her letter and scrubbing his hand through his hair anxiously.

By the time he’s finished, the owl is long gone, and three letters sit on the table in front of them. Two sit off to the side, copies of the same letter – one neat and clean, the other marred by splotches where his quill hovered too long over the paper. The third sits in front of him, a mess of aborted sentences and scribbled-out words.

After a moment of deliberation, Remus sighs heavily and makes a decision. He rises to leave, folding the clean copy of the first letter and slipping into his coat pocket, and crumpling the unfinished one in his fist, before tossing it rather violently into the fireplace. He slams the door a little harder than necessary as he leaves, and the draft blows the remaining copy of the first letter to the floor.

_September 2_ _ nd _

_Dear Harriet,_

_Don’t fret about sending the pictures back! They should have been with you from the beginning, after all, and your parents would want you to have them. ~~Did your aunt never show you a picture of L~~_

_Your parents were both brilliant – Lily was top of our class, and James not far behind. She also didn’t know a bit of magic before her first year, so don’t worry about being behind the others. James planned on becoming a healer. Some of the courses a healer needs (namely potions) were a bit out of his comfort zone, but I think that was half the appeal. In any case, he certainly got in plenty of practice patching us up during school._

_Lily certainly would have spent some time in academia, but long-term, she always talked about joining the ministry as a legislator. She always believed that ~~Vol~~ You-Know-Who, and the people who followed him, were a symptom of larger issues in society that needed to change. I might have some of her old notebooks in my Gringotts vault if you’d like me to look?_

_~~I’m glad you got onto the platform, but Petunia should have known~~ _

_~~Did they really just leave~~ _

_~~What if you’d been~~ _

_It sounds like you had quite an adventure getting to Hogwarts! I knew the Weasley’s briefly ~~during the~~ before you were born, and from what I recall they were lovely people – I’m glad they were able to help you._

_In the past, Hogwarts would normally have prefects waiting at platforms 9 and 10 to greet new students, but numbers shrank during the war, and are only just starting to get back to where they were._

_Yes, I’m afraid telling tales to the first years about the Sorting is something of a Hogwarts tradition. I believe our year was told that we’d have to cross the Black Lake without waking the giant squid. (Not much of a challenge, in retrospect – the old thing doesn’t do much more than sleep most days.)_

_Congratulations on Gryffindor, by the way! I’m sure your parents would be pleased – though they would be thrilled with whatever house you ended up with, including Slytherin, so long as you were happy there._

_Try not to put too much stock into houses, though. I’ve found that the Sorting is meant to identify the raw materials – the traits already there. It’s up to you to decide what to do with them. I’m sure you’ve heard some less than flattering things about Slytherins, but keep in mind that someone’s house is a lot less important than the decisions they make. There were several Slytherins that fought with your parents and me during the war, ~~and a Gryffindor who~~_

_All that said, that Malfoy boy certainly sounds… trying. Now, as an adult, I shouldn’t encourage fighting – nor will I. I will simply pass on the knowledge that a tongue-tying jinx can be found in the eleventh chapter of Standard Book of Spells, grade one._

_(A particular favorite of your mother’s – she got a lot of use out of it during our first few years at school)_

_Studying will certainly be important at Hogwarts, but I don’t think you’ll have to go quite so far as to memorize your books – still, you might ask Hermione if she’d like to study with you sometime? You’d be surprised at how much it helps to have another person to work with._

_I’m glad you’re enjoying the food – Mr. Potter was a phenomenal cook, and your father always missed it terribly the first few weeks of term, but our friend Peter was definitely of your opinion. ~~Are you not able to eat as much as you want at~~_

_If you ask nicely, one of the older Gryffindors might show you where the kitchens are – I suggest you pass your praise along to the house-elves there, you’ll quickly become a favorite!_

_I hadn’t realized you didn’t know about magic before – that must have been quite the shock! Out of curiosity, what did your Aunt and Uncle tell you about your parents?_

_Flying really is brilliant – even if you don’t join the quidditch team next year, everyone is allowed on the quidditch pitch if it’s not reserved for practice, so I recommend you keep in the habit. Remember, brooms are meant to respond to your intention – stay focused, and try to stay confident._

_I wish you the best of luck in your upcoming classes, though you won’t need it – just pay attention, do your readings, and ask for help if you need it, and you’ll be just fine._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus_

-

In the fire grate, edges curling and blackening, the body of the discarded letter could just be made out.

-

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_~~Did you know that Petunia hadn’t told Harriet about~~ _

_~~Petunia and her husband just left Harriet at King’s Cross, what if she’d~~ _

_~~James and Lily wouldn’t have wanted~~ _

_ You should have told me _

-

In the old apartment, rife with cracks, an odd draft causes the small flame to flare up, and the last of the letter in the grate crumbles into ash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](www.rexcorvidae.tumblr.com) \- feel free to drop by and say hi! comments and kudos sustain me, as always


	3. september 7th, 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! wow, sorry about the long break
> 
> i ended up obsessively tracking election developments (and the aftermath) for like, two weeks, and totally burned myself out. i was working on this in the meantime, but it was less "actual writing" and more "making a spreadsheet detailing the gryffindor first year student's class schedule and a full calendar of the 1991-92 school year marked with major canon and fic plot events"  
> and i can't rly post that on ao3.   
> luckily, things have calmed down enough for me to not feel the urge to check the news every twenty minutes, so i'm trying to get back into the swing of things
> 
> anyway, many thanks to the wonderful [aloneintherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/profile) for being my beta for this chapter!!!
> 
> harriet-centric chapter this time. rose, engine of war, etc, etc

Harriet bends over her letter studiously and tries to pretend she was the only one in the room. She wishes Hermione was here, but she had gone to ask Professor McGonagall about History of Magic, and Ron's downstairs in the crowded common room playing chess with Seamus.

Still, perhaps the din of the common room would be an improvement over the current company. Surreptitiously, she flicks her eyes up from her letter to look at her two roommates, who are sharing a magazine Harriet doesn't recognize, occasionally giggling and pointing things out.

They haven't technically _done_ anything yet, but Harriet had good reason to be wary - she _knew_ what girls like them were like. There had been plenty of them on Privet Drive. Always neat and pretty and put together – their clothes were always clean, and matching, their hair always lovely. They never slouched, were never sweaty and flushed and out of breath, never got told by the teacher that they needed to tie their hair back so it wasn’t a  _ distraction _ , or to sit still, or to  _ act like a lady _ .

The kind of girl Aunt Petunia would reference when she was feeling especially upset over Harriet’s general failings. When she’d say “If Vernon and I hadn’t agreed to take  _ you _ in we could have had another child, a  _ real  _ little girl”, followed by reminders of how  _ lucky _ she was, how  _ grateful _ she ought to be.

And girls like that  _ loathed _ Harriet.

She was ugly and weird, she wore boy’s clothes and made freaky things happen, she stuffed her face like a _pig_ at lunch, and that horrible scar, like a villain in a movie!

She smelled weird and  _ certainly _ had lice, look at that  _ hair _ , and it was best to keep away from her as much as possible.

Harriet grew used to it as she got older – the squeals when she came close, the pointed glances and whispers her way, that would burst into giggles when she looked back at them. At one point they’d made a game out of it - daring each other to get close before squealing and running away, like she was some wild thing.

One day, she’d lost her temper.

Even now, she can remember the burning in her gut when she'd turned towards them, eyes ablaze, to shout  _ leave me alone! _ For a moment she’d felt calm, satisfied – then a handful of stones on the ground launched themselves at the giggling girls, sending them running away screaming. It had been decided that Harriet must have thrown them (never mind that she didn’t have anything in her hands, or that the girls were close enough to  _ see _ that) and she’d returned to school a week later bruised and hungry, hunching in on herself instinctively when she forgot she wasn’t in the cupboard anymore.

After that, she’d learned to ignore it - nothing they could do to her at school was worse than what she’d get at home if she caused trouble like that again.

Lavender and Parvati hadn’t done anything like that  _ yet _ , but they didn’t need to – Harriet had seen the signs. They spent  _ ages _ in the bathroom every morning, fretting over their hair and their uniforms, and they’d rolled their eyes at Hermione the fifth time she’d stood to get Professor Binns’s attention – and yes, technically Harriet had too, but that was  _ different _ , she and Hermione were friends!

They could pretend to be nice to her all they wanted, but Harriet is smarter than that.

“Oh! It’s two o’clock – I promised Hannah I’d show her that spell mum sent me. Do you want to come with?”

Harriet holds herself very still while Lavender speaks, careful not to give any indication that she’d been listening ( _Girls Like Them_ always acted like she was invisible and didn’t like it when they were reminded otherwise).

She desperately hopes for Pavarti to say yes, but keeps her face carefully neutral when she replies, “No, I’m okay. Thanks, though!”

Perfect.

Parvati reclines on the bed as Lavender leaves, and Harriet does her level best to focus on her letter, even with a part of her brain tracking her remaining roommate _just in case_.

“Harriet?” She doesn't jump, but it's a near thing, her stomach doing a funny little swoop as dread creeps over her. “I was just wondering – what do you use for your hair?”

Harriet goes tense, a hard ball of anger forming in her gut. This was how it started – an innocuous question, one that Harriet would look _crazy_ getting upset over, even though they’d done this enough for her to  _ know _ how it would end by now-

Biting hard on her cheek, she resolves not to look up. She stops writing, but rereads what she's written so far without really seeing it. After a moment, Parvati clears her throat and stands, digging through her trunk for something. “Um, I only ask because- okay, well, my family all packs for school together, right? They make it a big production every year. Anyway, my cousin Anya – she’s a fifth year, Ravenclaw? – her hair is a lot like yours, and she  _ swears _ by this conditioner.” Parvati emerges with a pot about the size of her hand held out, triumphant. She walks over to Harriet, and politely does not mention the way she's sat frozen like a deer in headlights. “Mum put it in my trunk instead of hers, but by the time I noticed, Anya had already written home to get more, so I just thought you might like to try it?”

Acting on autopilot, and willing to do just about anything to get this confusing interaction to  _ stop _ , Harriet takes the jar from her.

“I- Er, thanks?”

Instantly, Parvati brightens. Harriet searches her face for a sign – an edge of a smirk, and hint of malice, signs that she’d gotten so adept at recognizing over the years – but there are none to be found. “No problem! Your hair really is lovely by the way.” She sighs, fingering a lock of her own hair wistfully, “I’d give  _ anything _ to get natural curls like yours. You should really let it grow out a little!”

Running her fingers anxiously over the metal lid, Harriet dropps her gaze, an old shame settling on her shoulders. “My aunt likes it short.” She shrugs, privately noting that  _ liked _ was a rather generous way to describe Aunt Petunia’s thoughts on her hair. “This is the longest it’s been in ages, honestly.” She adds, tugging on a lock that had reached just past her chin. “She’ll probably cut it again once I get home for the summer.”

“That’s awful!”

Parvati looks genuinely upset for her, a little furrow forming between her brows, and Harriet finds herself with the odd urge to  _ defend _ her aunt and uncle, if only to get attention off of herself.  “Eh, it’s not so bad. I like it short.”

This is true, for the most part. Some of her earliest memories were of sitting on a chair while Aunt Petunia yanked and tugged at her hair, cursing her father for passing on “his dreadful hair”, the brushes she’d bought for not working well enough, and Harriet herself for crying and pulling away. If she thought about it long enough she could still feel the phantom ache of her scalp. With her hair short, Aunt Petunia mostly kept her interventions verbal, not physical.

Parvati shrugs amiably. “Well, I think it’s cute either way, but if you ever want to do anything a bit more complex once it grows out, let me know! It’s been  _ ages _ since Anya let me do her hair” Something seems to occur to her, because she adds, brightening, “Maybe on the last day of term, I can help you style it! It’ll look so good that your aunt will  _ have _ to let you keep it.”

Harriet isn't sure which concept is more alien – someone like Parvati so much as giving her the time of day, much less doing something  _ for _ her, or Aunt Petunia approving of her hair. Still, Parvati is looking at her expectantly, so she does her best to muster a smile. That was what was expected here, right?

“Yeah," She nods, "maybe.” And then, feeling the urge to reciprocate. “You’re really- er. I mean, your hair is really pretty too.”

She got a bright smile in return, which made her stomach do another flip with something other than dread. “Thanks! I nearly signed it all off in Potions on Friday, though. I  _ swear _ , Professor Snape made the flame grow just to teach me a lesson, Lav and I were  _ watching _ it to make sure it didn’t get too big! Besides, I saw how he went after you – he _clearly_ has something against Gryffindors.”

Harriet grinned, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as they approached more comfortable territory. The conversation with Parvati flowed easier after that, as they discussed their first week of classes, and the various eccentricities of their new professors.

She left not long after, citing the need to get a start on the Herbology homework, and left Harriet alone in the dorm room, still tracing the lid of the gift in her lap. She looked at it hesitantly for a moment, turning it this way and that in her hand before carefully opening the lid.

Harriet wasn’t sure what she expected, but all she found inside was an innocuous looking hair cream. It smelled of honey, and flowers, and something else that she couldn’t quite place, something distantly familiar.

She still didn’t trust it, not yet. There were probably plenty of nasty tricks that magic could mask with a nice smell.

Still, though. A gift. A  _ real _ gift, and not for any special reason, but just because.

Harriet returned to her letter, something that had long since grown hard and spiny beginning to soften in her chest.

-

_Dear ~~Mr. L~~ Remus,_

_Thanks again for lending me your pictures. I know you said I could keep them, but ~~if Aunt Petunia found~~ Aunt Petunia likes things neat and would probably be upset if I came home with a lot of stuff. I did keep one picture, the one of mum, dad, and I outside a house? But let me know if that wasn’t okay, and I can send that back too, it’s no trouble at all! I promise I’ll take care of it!_

_Sorry it took so long for me to write back. I meant to send them back Monday night, but things have been so busy! You were right about our classes – we haven’t done much magic yet, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is that far ahead of anyone else. Well, besides Hermione. I took your advice and asked her to study with me and Ron, by the way._

_Ron was right – she is a bit bossy, but she’s also brilliant, and really nice once you start talking to her. She did get cross with Ron on Wednesday for falling asleep while we were getting ready for Astrology, but to be fair it was eleven at night – I can’t believe we have classes at midnight!_

_We haven’t done much magic yet, but I still really like the classes. Most of them, anyway. History of Magic is terribly dull, and Professor Binns won’t even stop to answer questions! Hermione wanted to ask if muggle history and wizard history blended a lot, and he didn’t look up once the whole hour! And when she went to ask him after class, he just said something about the essay due for third years next week._

_I was worried Herbology would be boring – I do the yardwork at Privet Drive already, so I know how to take care of plants – but it’s really fascinating! For the first class Professor Sprout brought out a Chomping Cabbage and let us feed it carrots. We won’t get to those until fifth year though._

_You were right about Transfiguration – it’s really hard. We mostly worked on theory this week, although on Thursday we got to try turning a match into a needle. Hermione was the only one to do it properly, but Ron and I got ours rather shiny and pointy, and McGonagall seemed pleased._

_Charms was definitely easier – I managed the fire making charm on my first try! Although, when Professor Flitwick asked me to demonstrate, I got nervous, and the flame got a little bigger than it was supposed to… Flitwick wasn’t angry, though! He seemed to find it funny, actually. He vanished what was left of the desk and made a new one and said that it happened all the time. I also thought I heard him say something to himself about “Miss Evans’s daughter” – did things like this happen to mum a lot?_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts is cool too, although Professor Quirrell seems a little… anxious, most days? That’s what Ron and Hermione think, anyways – I got the worst headaches during his classes, so I didn’t really notice anything odd. Fred and George say it’s because he stuffs is turban full of garlic to keep away vampires – apparently he had a run in with them over the summer? - but I hope that’s not the issue, or else I’ll be in for a long year._

_Potions was certainly interesting, although I don’t think Professor Snape likes me very much…_

-

Harriet stoically ignored the anxious twist her stomach gave as they walked into the Potions classroom. It had done the same thing the first time she went to each of her new classes, and each time they had been wonderful – or, in the case of history of Magic, tolerable. And even if Professor Snape _was_ as bad as Angelina had claimed, Harriet had years of keeping her mouth shut and following instructions to fall back on. 

That fledgling confidence fled as soon as Professor Snape began to speak. 

Sometimes, Uncle Vernon would have a bad day at work. He’d never explicitly _say_ so, but Harriet could feel it the instant he walked in. Like the air around him was charged with electricity, and he was just _waiting_ for someone to flip the switch. 

For _her_ to flip the switch.

The moment Snape opened his mouth, Harriet felt that crackle against her skin – the same old instinct rearing up in her brain screeching _danger! danger! danger!_

_Don’t be stupid_ , Harriet thought to herself viciously _, he hasn’t even done anything yet, don’t be a baby-_

“Ah, yes. Miss Potter. Our new… celebrity.” His tone processed before his words did. A cold sneer, paired with a look that reminded Harriet of Aunt Petunia judging a piece of meat that had just passed its expiry date.

“I-“ She gaped like a fish, finding that there wasn’t any air in her lungs to respond with – not that she had any idea how she was _meant_ to respond.

It didn’t matter. Just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and he had moved on to the next name on his list. 

Harriet took the brief respite to catch her breath. She took long, slow breaths through her nose – not nearly as deep as she’d like, but she knew from experience it was more important not to be caught doing anything out of the ordinary when on someone’s radar. 

Slowly, the ache in her chest lessened (though not entirely), replaced by a familiar throbbing behind her eyes. _You’re fine_ , she thought to herself, _you’re fine_. _Just get through this class and-_

“Potter!” Harriet didn’t flinch – didn’t jump. She knew better. She fought to keep her face neutral in the face of Snape’s snarl. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood”

She remembered this! The diagram of wormwood, soft green with thin, fraying roots like twine. And on the opposite page, the diagram of asphodel – tall stalks with white, spiky petals, and bundles of bulbs just beneath the earth – and below them, the textbook had read…

“Uh, sleeping potion. Sir.” 

Snape didn’t seem pleased – quite the opposite. He stalked closer, slamming his palms down in the desk. Harriet didn’t move, every muscle in her body rigid and still. “Have you _any idea_ ,” he said in a near whisper, “How many _thousands_ of sleeping potions exist? Potions to let you drift off, potions to keep you asleep until you never awake, potions to keep you locked in your worst nightmares until some kind soul decides to deliver an antidote.”

Harriet didn’t respond. It occurred to her that she wasn’t breathing, and began to take slow, shallow breaths through her nose. Snape was close enough now that she could faintly smell coffee. 

“Which ONE, Potter?” he snapped. “Which potion was it?”

Her mouth fell open to respond before she could even think, and she was acutely aware of how she must look, gaping like a fish. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. Ron, at the desk ahead of her, pantomiming choking himself and… dying? Death!

“Draught- Draught of Living Death. Sir.”

Snape wasn’t listening. He must have seen Harriet glance at Ron, because he swept around with a swirl of his cape to catch him in the act. Wisely, however, Ron had already turned back to his desk, innocent as a lamb. Without turning around, he strode back up to the front of the class where he could see them all at once. “Potter! What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?

She wasn’t quite relieved, but it was as close as she’d gotten since this lesson started – she remembered that one fondly from this last summer locked up in her room – stroking the purple petals on the page and thinking that they were ever so much prettier than Aunt Petunia’s roses.

“They’re the same plant, sir. Aconite.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and that relief crumbled beneath a sharp spike of fear. He was getting _mad_ , why was he getting mad? What had she done?

“What is the active ingredient in a Wiggenwald potion?”

Harriet blinked. A _what_? She’d never even heard that word before today! From beside her, Hermione tentatively raised her hand. Snape ignored her, continuing to stare at Harriet with an eyebrow raised.

“I- I don’t know sir.” She felt her face flush again.

Evidently, that was the right answer. She saw a flash of triumph in his eyes – the same one in Uncle Vernon’s when he came home from a Bad Day and found some chore she hadn’t done yet. The muscle in his jaw stopped jumping, and even braced for what came next, a part of her couldn’t help but relax. 

“Hm. Thought you’d just flip through the first few pages of your textbook and be allowed to simply coast through the class? Merlin forbid the _famous Harriet Potter_ be asked to do any actual _work_. For your information, Miss Potter, the active ingredient in a Wiggenwald potion is Dittany, along with wolfsbane, unicorn horn, and wiggentree bark. Well?” He snapped at the rest of the class, “Why aren’t you writing this down?” 

-

_… And later, the boy at the table next to Ron and me blew up his potion on accident, and Professor Snape said that I let him screw up so I’d look good, and took points from me for it!_

_Angelina (she’s a third year) told me that Snape’s always like that to Gryffindors, and that I’d get used to it. I suppose she’s right, ~~I just thought at Hogwarts~~ but I just wasn’t expecting it._

_Still, there’s plenty to look forward too! We’re planting puffapods in Herbology on Monday, and on Tuesday Professor Quirrel is going to teach us how to treat werewolf bites. Plus, there’s flying on Thursday!_

_I don’t mean to be annoying, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about yourself? It’s just that I’ve asked you so much about my parents, but you were their best friend, and I don’t know anything about you. What do you do? What was your favorite subject in school? Did you play Quidditch like Dad? Is your family magic? Also (Hermione told me to ask this), what’s your favorite book?_

_~~I’m sorry if these~~ _

_~~You don’t have to~~ _

_Sincerely,_

_Harriet_

-

After testing the conditioner on a small piece of hair to ensure that it truly _wasn’t_ a prank, Harriet had quietly conferred with Parvati to determine _how_ , precisely, to use the conditioner (Aunt Petunia had a great variety of hair-care products, but Harriet’s experience was limited to the bar soap Aunt Petunia had started buying for her after Dudley complained about having to share things with a _girl_.) She uses it the next morning, combing it through her hair while it was still wet, just like Parvati said, but doesn’t really notice a difference as it dries. Still, it makes her hair small _wonderful_ , so she doesn’t consider it much of a loss, and thinks no more of it as she continues to get ready.

She’d been on her way out before remembering that she’d left her toothbrush in the bathroom, and ducks back in to get it, when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

Harriet, as a rule, tended to avoid mirrors. Part of it was necessity – there were usually chores to be done at the Dursley’s, and even if there weren’t, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon probably would have accused her of trying to blow up the toilet if she ever lingered too long in the bathroom.

And, besides that- she didn’t care! She wasn’t like the _other girls_ in her class, fretting over their nice, matching outfits and pretty little hair clips.

But she catches a glance in the mirror as she passes, and freezes.

_I look pretty._

The thought is so alien, so bizarre, that she stomps it down immediately out of pure instinct. She didn’t look _pretty_ , not that she cares! Her hair just looks. Different.

Aunt Petunia always complained that it looked filthy, and matted, like a rat’s nest, even after it had been washed – dull and lank with just enough frizz to make her look like she hadn’t brushed her hair in a week.

But now... It’s shiny, and soft to the touch, and for the first time she understood why people said her hair was _curly_. Even the places where the hair was shorter and uneven, from the last time Aunt Petunia had brought out the kitchen shears, looked better. They’re still noticeable, but they look almost like they’re _supposed_ to be there.

She isn’t sure what she expects from Hermione when she heads down to the common room, but it’s certainly not the funny look Hermione gives her. “What have you done to your hair?”

There is something in her voice, in the furrow between her brows, that makes Harriet suddenly hesitant. “I- nothing, really. Parvati had an extra jar of this conditioner that her cousin uses, and she asked if I wanted it.”

“Oh.” Hermione replies after a moment. She starts walking to the portrait hole, and Harriet hurries to follow. “Is that what took you so long?” She says it casually enough, but there’s a bite to her tone that makes Harriet’s hackles raise. _Danger, danger_.

“Uh, no, I-“

“Because, _honestly_ ,” She continues, “The way those two act sometimes! We’re here to _learn_ , but they care more about what’s going _on_ their heads than what’s going in them! My mother always says that girls like that…”

Harriet thinks about Lavender going to teach Hannah a spell that wasn’t in their textbooks, Parvati in the common room later in that night, bent studiously over a potions essay that _Harriet_ hadn’t even started yet, and for a brief moment she wants to speak up.

Instead, she bites her tongue. Hermione is clearly annoyed, working up to something, and every one of Harriet’s instincts are screaming at her to keep her mouth shut and let it pass.

“-And, anyway, I was just so _relieved_ to meet you and find out you weren’t one of _those girls_ , Harri!”

And Hermione is smiling at her now, earnest and kind, like she did when Harriet got a question on their Transfiguration homework right without asking for help, and the alarm in her head starts to quiet.

It takes significant restraint not to let out a breath, but instead, Harriet smiles back as she thinks to herself _you’re fine. It’s fine_.

“Yeah, definitely!” She responds with a grin, “Just makes it easier to manage, is all.”

Hermione lets out a noncommittal hum. “Well, as long as you don’t start acting like _they_ do,” She says with a laugh, “I mean, _honestly,_ you’d think they had nothing better to do than stand in front of a mirror all day! Personally, I can think of better uses of our time.”

Harriet huffs a laugh, but it feels cold and mechanical. “Yeah.”

They enter the Great Hall, and Hermione thankfully changes the topic to their next Herbology lesson. Hermione is scanning the table for Ron, so she doesn’t see Parvati catch Harriet’s eye. She gestures to her hair, and beams at her, and Harriet responds with a sheepish grin, mouthing _thanks_. Parvati gives her a wave, and turns back to conversation with her friends, and as Hermione sits down and explains to Ron “Sorry we were late, _some of us_ were taking _ages_ to get ready” Harriet’s stomach twists with something between guilt and resentment.

This, at least, she is used to. She plasters on a grin and rolls her eyes. “Whatever, ‘Mione.”

They fall into easy conversation, and if Harriet spends more time pushing food around her plate than actually eating it, no one notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh, wonder what remus is getting up to?
> 
> [come hang out on tumblr!](www.rexcorvidae.tumblr.com)  
> meta stuff below, ignore if you aren't interested-----  
> for anyone who is, i was kinda worried about inserting the potions scene - it felt more visceral as a prose scene, but it also kinda felt like cheating the format i'm trying to do here? idk. tell me yr thoughts.  
> additionally, i'm trying to address r*wlings internalized misogyny in a way that's fair to all the characters involved. hermione was kind of a little shit to lavender and parvati, but she was a child as much as they were. i'm planning on delving into this more in the future, but for now, just know that the intention is not to make hermione "the bad guy". she's an 11 year old who is very determined to hold onto one of the only friends she's ever had. that's valid.


	4. a handful of letters (mostly unsent), september, 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would make a joke about how i hadn't updated since last year but unironically this took SO FUCKING LONG im sorry yall. on the brightside, the next is like 95% ready to be posted, and should be up tomorrow? hopefully?
> 
> also heads up: this one is long! and i am very sorry! there was a lot to fit in here okay.
> 
> so, _so_ many thanks to the wonderful [aloneintherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/profile) for reading over this chapter for me - without her this chapter probably would have been doomed to editing hell for ages.

Under normal circumstances, Harriet would feel a bit self-conscious – writing to Remus _again_ before he’d even responded to her last letter.

Under normal circumstances, she might have even been a little concerned, because Remus had answered her last two letters right away, and it was now quickly approaching a week.

However, these were not normal circumstances.

_Sept. 12_

_Dear Remus,_

_Sorry to write again so soon, ~~but~~ _ ~~_I was wondering if you had any tips on dueli_ ~~

~~_Could you suggest any good spells to_ ~~

~~_Hypothetically, if someone was going to duel with a g_ ~~

_~~Did you or my dad ever get into any duels during your first year, and if s~~ o _

Harriet sighs, letting her quill fall back onto the table. It was probably hopeless anyway – even if the letter got to Remus before she and Ron left for the duel, there was almost no way his response would get back in time. Still, she’d wanted _some_ guidance beyond Ron’s earlier suggestions to “dodge if he tries to hit you” and “never underestimate your opponent’s Knight”, whatever that meant.

Looking through her textbooks isn’t an option either. Her charms had gotten better – she was consistently able to get _some_ results after a few tries – but these results tended to be… big. Far bigger than they needed to be. Professor Flitwick said that more control would come with practice, but in the meantime, Harriet would steer clear. She didn’t like Malfoy, but she didn’t want to _torch_ him.

And she would ask Hermione for advice, but, well…

-

“I can’t _believe_ you agreed to that- that _boneheaded_ duel!”

“Hermione-”

“I mean, _honestly_ Harriet! I’d expect something that stupid from _him_ -” Hermione turned to glare at Ron, and Harriet’s mouth opened before she could think.

“Hey! He’s not stupid, don’t talk to him like that!”

“Forget it, Harri,” Ron snapped from beside her. “She’s just jealous someone _else_ gets be top of the class for once”

The brief rush of warmth that came from Ron defending her, fled at his insult to Hermione, and Harriet felt like the rug was being yanked from under her. “Ron, hey-”

Hermione whirled around, eyes alight. “Oh, _jealous_ , am I? You think I’m _jealous_ that the two of you are going to lose all the house points _I’ve_ managed to get us in the last week?” She paused, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, her expression was firm and conciliatory – Harriet was reminded of Dudley’s teachers when he was having a tantrum and felt a hot wave of resentment. “Harriet, you need to go to Malfoy and tell him you’re not going tonight. I understand it might seem funny to lure him out for nothing, but-”

“Not for nothing!” Harriet snapped.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Well, you’re certainly not going to actually _duel_ him!”

Since arriving at Hogwarts, Harriet had enjoyed a degree of freedom she’d never experienced before. While there were still teachers and prefects that needed to be obeyed, she was largely allowed to do what she wanted – to eat what she wanted, to read what she wanted, to be where she wanted. Perhaps it was the threat of that freedom being _restricted_ , but Hermione’s words lit a fire under her.

“Of course I am!” She yelled back furiously.

Hermione looked shocked. “Harriet, do you have any idea how _stupid_ -”

“For god’s sake, Hermione!” She felt like she was going to _explode_ , she was so frustrated! She ran her hands through her hair to try to calm down, mussing it more than it already was. “Something isn’t stupid just because _you_ disagree with it!”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Ron laid a hand on Harriet’s arm. “Forget about her. She’ll never think it’s a good idea because she didn’t come up with it first.”

Later, Harriet would think that Ron wasn’t right. Hermione didn’t think the duel was a bad idea because she didn’t come up with it, she thought it was a bad idea because she thought _anything_ that broke the rules was wrong. And Harriet didn’t know why that distinction felt so important, but it _did,_ and later she’d regret not correcting him.

In the moment, though, she’d just wanted to _shake_ Hermione. What about this was she not _getting_ ? If a rule means letting something bad happen, and you _can_ break it, then you should! If she’d followed all the Dursley’s rules during her punishments she would have starved by now!

But _of course_ Hermione wouldn’t get it. She’d never been locked in a cupboard for weeks, she’d never had to stay up until the middle of the night to nick something to eat, she’d never spent her lunch times at school trying to tuck as much food as possible into her pockets without anyone noticing so she could save it for later ( _just in case)._

Hermione thought all teachers were perfect geniuses, and the worst thing that could happen to someone was a bad grade. 

It made Harriet want to _scream_.

She was _furious,_ and betrayed, and she could feel the beginnings of that hot, white wave that had crashed over her so many times before. At the zoo, in primary school, and right before so many burst lightbulbs and broken windows. So, she didn’t argue. She just grit her teeth and nodded, letting Ron lead her away.

“Fine!” Hermione yelled after them, “If you ever happen to get any _sense_ , you know where to find me!”

-

Hermione had stormed off in the direction of the library, and, as far as Harriet knows, has been there ever since.

The thought of their fight has her stomach twisting into knots, but she couldn’t bring herself to be sorry. She was _right!_ If she had let Malfoy off, he’d just think he could get away with bullying whoever he wanted! It wasn’t as though the professors had done anything, after all!

Hermione would see that, eventually. She had to.

“Harri?”

She jolted upright, startled, to find Lavender leaning on the doorframe. “What’s up?”

“Ron wants you to come down,” she says, nodding towards the common room. “Something about… a strategy session?” She gives Harriet a quizzical look. “What _are_ you two doing, anyway? You’ve been all out of sorts since dinner.” 

Harriet's eyes go wide. She’s fairly certain Lavender won’t rat her out, but it’s hardly a risk she wants to take. “Uh… chess lessons.” She blurts out. “I’m rubbish, he’s been teaching me.” And then, in a moment of inspiration: “... for Quidditch!” 

Lavender doesn’t look any less confused, but she seems to decide it isn’t any of her business. “Alright,” she shrugs, “well, he’s waiting on you.”

She manages to wait until the other girl has gone back downstairs before letting out a sigh. She wasn’t exactly eager for another “strategy session” that consisted of chess metaphors that largely flew over her head, but as she hasn’t found anything useful in her textbooks, it can’t hurt.

She looks down at the letter in her lap one last time before crumpling it in her hand and tossing it into the fire grate. Then, before she can lose her nerve, she grabs a fresh sheet and quickly scrawls:

_Sept. 12,_

_Dear Remus,_

_Sorry to write twice in a row, but I just wanted to tell you- I’m on the quidditch team! It’s kind of a long story, but the short version is that McGonagall saw me chasing a Remembrall (after that_ _idiot_ _Malfoy tried to steal it from Neville), and she wants me to be Seeker! She already introduced me to Oliver Wood (he’s team captain), and he thinks I’d be great! He’s taking me out tomorrow night to teach me how the game works and see me fly. I’m so excited!_

_Anyway, I hope you’re doing well! Did all the pictures make it back to you okay?_

_Harriet_

And then, as an afterthought:

_P.S. Do you have any dueling tips? Or spells that wouldn’t be dangerous if they came out bigger than they were supposed to be? It’s for a defense against the dark arts assignment_

_It could hardly hurt_ , she thinks as she folds the letter and hands it to Hedwig, who’s sat perched on the window ledge, _to get some advice if this happens again_ . 

Still, there was no way Remus’s response would arrive in the scant few hours she had left before the duel. 

For tonight, she and Ron would be on their own.

* * *

_Sept. 13,_

_Dear Remus,_

_I just got back from practicing with Wood – Professor McGonagall got me a broom, a Nimbus 2000! Can you believe it? It’s amazing, even faster than the school brooms we used during class!_ _I won’t meet the rest of the team until Monday, but Wood says that as long as I fly as well as I did tonight I’ll be fine._

 _You were right, by the way. Flying is_ _incredible_ _. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life! Your advice really helped, too, so thank you!_

_Sorry to write again so soon, but I really need some advice. Hermione is… really mad that I got on the Quidditch team._

~~_She thinks that I’m being ‘rewarded’ for breaking the rules, which is_ _ridiculous_ ~~

~~_See, during our flying lesson on Thursday, Malfoy challenged me to_ ~~

~~_I really like her, and I don’t want to not be friends anymore, but I don’t know how to_ ~~

~~_How do I make her understand that-_ ~~

Harriet sighs as she scratches the last line out particularly viciously. It’s pointless. _Nothing_ she says is right. She doesn’t even know where to _start_ explaining what happened with Hermione. 

She glances over to Hermione’s empty bed and feels her stomach give a guilty twist. Since their fight this morning, she’d avoided Gryffindor Tower completely.

But what is she meant to do? Apologize?

If she apologized, Hermione would just think it was _okay_ \- she’d think she could keep acting like Harriet was _stupid_ and that she was _right_ about just letting Malfoy do whatever he wanted if there wasn’t a teacher around. That was what always happened - Dudley could do whatever he wanted, but as soon as Harriet did something in response (even when it wasn’t on purpose!), _she_ was in trouble. _She_ was punished, _she_ had to apologize to Dudley, and he went right back on doing what he was doing. 

Besides… at times, it had seemed like apologizing was all Harriet ever _did_ at the Dursleys – over and over, for things she hadn’t even _done_ , on the off-chance that it would convince her Aunt and Uncle to leave her alone. She certainly isn’t going to do it _now_ over something she doesn’t feel bad about, not to someone who’s supposed to be her friend!

…even _if_ she can’t stop replaying the fight in her head.

-

“Oh, I bet you think you’re _very_ clever, don’t you?” Hermione had hissed at Harriet and Ron in the courtyard. They’d already rushed upstairs to stow her broom away, and had been sitting, heads bent together, as Ron told her all about the best broom stunts he’d seen from quidditch players. “You break the rules, _break curfew_ , but it’s all fine because you get to be on the _quidditch team_!”

Ron turned around to give her a scathing look. “What are you talking about? She got on the quidditch team because McGonagall saw that she’s a bloody good flier, and _you’re_ the only one that’s said _anything_ about last night!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “For your information, I was talking to _Harri_. I wouldn’t waste my time arguing with someone as dim as you anyway-“

“Will you stop calling him that?” Harriet had yelled back, whirling around, “God Hermione, you just-“ She could feel the frustration threatening to burst from her chest. “ _Urgh_ ! Why do you have to treat everyone that looks at things _a little differently than you_ like an idiot!”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do! You do it with Ron, and with me, and with-“

“I never called _you_ an idiot!”

“You said just yesterday-“

“I said you were _acting_ like an idiot - and I was _right,_ by the way – but you only started acting like that the more you hung out with _him._ ” She pointed to Ron over Harri’s shoulder. “If you’d just _listened to_ _me-“_

“Ron doesn’t make decisions for me, Hermione! And neither do you!”

Hermione looked like she was having a difficult time staying calm. “I know _I_ don’t, Harriet, but you have to understand. Rules exist for a reason, and when people break them, they should be punished – that’s how the world works.”

Harriet felt something in her stomach go hard, and cold. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had said nearly the same thing to her dozens of times – how she ought to be _thankful_ for every chore and every punishment, because they were just ‘teaching her how the world worked’. Did Hermione really think like that? “God, Hermione, you’d jump off a _bridge_ if you found it written in a rulebook somewhere!”

“I’m just trying to look out for you-“

“I’m not _stupid_ , I can look after myself!”

“Clearly not! You let Malfoy bait you and lead us on a wild goose chase in the middle of the night – that almost got us _killed_ , mind you!”

“I couldn’t just back down-“

“Which was _clearly_ why he guessed - _rightly_ , I might add - that he could set you up!”

“I don’t care, Hermione! If you let people like that walk all over you they’ll _never stop_.”

“Oh _please_ , Harriet. He made you so mad you couldn’t see sense! That’s why you need to _listen to me_ -“

“I don’t need _any of your advice_. And if I’m such an idiot, I don’t know why you’d want to hang out with me anyway.” And then, entirely without thinking, Harriet added “You’ve got plenty of other friends, don’t you?”

Something changed on Hermione’s face, and Harriet immediately knew she’d taken things a step too far, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. _And when people break the rules, they should be punished_ . How many hours had she spent locked in her cupboard, kept awake by hunger cramps? How times had she snuck out at night to nick food from the bin? Would Hermione tell her she’d deserved those punishments too? That _those_ rules ‘ _exist for a reason’_?

Hermione’s face was bright red and furious. Harriet forced down the little twist of guilt in her stomach at the sight of her watery eyes. “Well- Well- You’re right!” She snapped. “I _really_ haven’t the faintest idea why I’d bother with someone so, so- _thickheaded!_.”

“Fine!” Harriet yelled back.

“Fine!”

Both girls had turned to storm off, only to pause. Ron had retreated a few yards away, because around them were two circles of deadened grass – just gray and limp enough to be distinguishable.

They glanced at each other briefly, out of instinct, before remembering that they were no longer speaking, even to ask about bizarre magical occurrences, and rushing off.

“Hey, Harri-“ Ron had started tentatively, but Harriet shook her head.

“I’m fine. I’ll catch up later.”

She’d rushed back to the dormitory with her head down. If Ron had noticed, upon her return, that her eyes were a little puffier and redder than normal, he wisely kept silent.

-

Harriet only breaks free from the memory when she feels something wet on her hand. She looks down to find them curled into fists, her half-hearted attempt at a letter crumpled between them, stained by wet ink and a few stray tears.

Furious with herself, she pulls the sleeve of her robe over her hand to scrub at her face. She isn’’t _crying_ over this, that’s _stupid_ ! And she _certainly_ isn’t going to bother Remus with it, either. Not like she hadn’t been bothering him plenty, anyway. 

She stuffs the crumpled remains of the letter into her bag to be thrown away later, and pulls out her Defense textbook. She flips through it idly, looking to see if Quirrell's future lectures would be any more interesting. She reads, and reads, until her eyes ache and her distress is buried under words on the page. 

* * *

_Sept 18_

_Dear Remus,_

~~_I hope everything’s okay. I was just wondering_ ~~

~~_I just wanted to make sure_ ~~

~~_Sorry about all those dumb questions I s_ ~~

Harriet is starting to worry. It had been two weeks now since she’d heard from Remus, and there’s still been no reply.

And that’s fine. Really!

He probably just got busy with something - he had his own life, after all - and she was getting herself all worked up over nothing.

She just-

It seems odd. That he’d written back so quickly the other times, but then when she sent the pictures back, and sent all those questions, suddenly…

Harriet just can’t help shake the feeling that she’s done something wrong.

And it was especially hard because she found herself with things she wanted to tell Remus. Good things! Like quidditch practice on Monday…

-

Harriet had been far too restless to sit in the common room and _wait_ for five o’clock to roll around. She’d only been on a broom twice so far, but she was itching to get on again. At four-thirty she quickly changed out of her uniform and dragged Ron out to the pitch with her. He declined to get on a school broom with her, insisting he wanted to see the look on his brothers’ faces when they found out about Wood’s “secret-weapon”, leaving her to fly on her own.

She’d seen athletes on TV warm-up before practice. She didn’t know if the exact same concept applied to quidditch, but she’d take any excuse to get up in the air again. Harriet didn’t think anything would ever compare to lifting off on a broom. The brief swoop in her stomach as she adjusted to being off the ground, followed by the exhilaration of _knowing_ the broom underneath her would take her where she led it, of pushing it faster, _faster_ …

It was… magical.

She started with a few simple laps around the pitch, but quickly felt the urge to escalate. She nipped in and out of the keeper’s hoops and weaved between the stands, pushing to the height of the Astronomy Tower, and then dropping low enough that the tips of her shoelaces could drag across the ground. She was preoccupied with making figure-eights around the keeper’s hoops when she heard it.

“Hey, Potter!” Her eyes flew across the pitch to see a small group of red and gold specks gathered below her. Before she could get embarrassed, though, she caught sight of something just above them. A glint of gold. “Catch.”

Wood didn’t need to tell her twice. She dove after the snitch, a new wave of adrenaline filling her as she flew towards the Slytherin stands **.** She was within arm’s length when the snitch took a sharp left. She followed instinctively, only to see that she was headed straight towards the seats – if she didn’t turn back, and _soon_ , she’d run into the supports! Unless…

She didn’t have long, so she dived sharply, pulling herself upright only when she was low enough to slip under the stands and into the support structure above her. A few seconds of careful dodging let her get just below the snitch, but lateral struts above her blocked her access every few seconds – she’d have to time her grab _perfectly_ or she’d end up with a sprained wrist at _best_.

Eyeing the gaps carefully, she bit her lip and tried to gauge how long she had in between each strut. _One._ She rose just barely from her broom. _Two_ . She began to raise one hand, careful to hold fiercely to the broom handle with the other. _Three..._

Yes!

So pleased at her catch, she nearly didn’t notice the rapidly approaching wall. Nearly.

She didn’t form a plan, so much as she quickly pictured what she’d need to do to get out of the stands with her broom (and herself) intact, gripped the handle tight, and hoped.

_Remember, brooms are meant to respond to your intention – stay focused, and try to stay confident._

She shut her eyes, imagined herself rolling sideways and out, away from the wall and out from under the seats. She opened her eyes and was quickly to dizzy to imagine anything else. All her focus was dedicated to clinging to the broom and, upon being free of the stands, getting upright again. The latter would be easier if she could just manage to work out which way up _was_.

Harriet barely managed to right herself before falling into a clumsy landing, stumbling off her broom and trying to be subtle about how much of her weight it was holding up as she walked up to Wood, snitch in hand.

Standing in front of the team, she felt suddenly shy. Their faces were inscrutable, and it struck Harriet how much older than her they all seemed to be - she had to look up to meet any of their gazes. She was distinctly conscious of her clothes – a t-shirt from a second hand store that hung half way down to her knees, an old pair of Dudley’s jeans that had been rolled up several times and was cinched by an old belt of Uncle Vernon’s that Harriet had bored extra holes in. She couldn’t help but feel a bit like a child caught playing pretend, and she braced herself for annoyance or disbelief at Wood’s decision. 

She held out the snitch. “Uh. Here you go.”

Wood took it without a word, expression unreadable. Finally, he turned back to his team. “Well?”

Harriet stood in petrified silence.

One of the girls – Angelina, Harriet recognized, the one who had warned her about Snape’s feelings towards Gryffindors – spoke first. “Holy shit, Wood. She _came_ like that?”

Wood turned back to Harriet, grinning broadly. “Slytherin doesn’t stand a _chance_.”

-

There’s just so much she wants to tell Remus about - so much she’s learned and seen and gotten to try. It was a novel experience, having someone in her life who _wanted_ to hear about that sort of thing, and the thought that she’d managed to annoy him so much he just _gave up_ made her feel ill.

Still, she reminds herself, if he _is_ upset with her, bothering him _more_ would only make things worse. No, her best bet would be to just… leave him alone. Wait for him to write back. He would eventually.

She hopes. 

* * *

_September 22_

~~_Dear Mr._ ~~

~~_Hi Remu_ ~~

_Dear Remus_

_I’m really sorry to bother you, ~~but I just wanted to apologize~~ _

~~_I’m sorry about_ ~~

~~_I wanted to apologize_ ~~

_Sorry to pester you, I just wanted to thank you again for the photos of my parents. Also,_ ~~_sorry about_ ~~ _never mind those questions I asked last time – I wasn’t thinking when I sent that, and ~~I~~ _ ~~_didn’t mean to_ ~~ _shouldn’t have bothered you about that._

~~_Quidditch practice has been going really well, and_ ~~

~~_In Transfiguration yesterday, I finally managed to_ ~~

~~_I just wanted to make sure_ ~~

~~_If you'd prefer not to_ ~~

It has been nearly three weeks since Harriet has heard from Remus.

And that’s fine.

Really, it is, because Ron only writes to his mum once a week, and the same went for most of the people in her year, even Hermione, and the older kids don’t even write that often. Besides, Harriet is eleven years old, she’s not a _child_ , it’s just-

She knows that he’s probably busy, that he probably has _far_ more important things to do than write to some stranger he hardly knows, but she can’t help but worry.

The issue is, before getting to Hogwarts, adults in general seemed to dislike her. The Dursleys, the neighbors, her teachers. They tolerated her, usually, so long as she kept her mouth shut and didn’t cause trouble, but she’d never known an adult that seemed to _want_ to talk to her. Until Remus.

And with nearly three weeks gone by without a word, she can’t help but worry that… well, that he’s gotten tired of her. Or maybe he’d never liked her that much in the first place. Maybe he’d been subtly trying to tell her their correspondence was over, and she’d just been too dense to pick up on it.

Or maybe it was the questions she’d asked? She’d _known_ those were a bad idea! He’d given her very explicit permission to ask questions about _her parents_ , if he’d wanted to be pestered about _himself_ , he would have told her so. 

Or was it because she’d sent his pictures back? What if he thought she didn’t _want_ the pictures, or didn’t care about them – that she was some horrid child that didn’t care about her parents, or, or-

Or maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe he’s simply been busy, and she’s overreacting, and if she says something, or sends yet _another_ letter, he’d think her clingy and bothersome.

Therein lies the issue, the thing currently tying her guts into knots.

She doesn’t _know_ which one it is, but she’s almost positive that a wrong guess will ruin everything beyond repair.

Harriet sighs, and crumples the letter in her hand. It adds to a slowly growing ball of crumpled paper sitting next to her – other failed letters. She feels so _stupid_ . Stupid, and clingy, and _oblivious_. The great window in the Owlery has a wide, comfortable ledge, and she sits there with her back against the wall and her arms on her knees.

She feels… adrift. She has absolutely no idea what she’s meant to do, and nothing to guide her but a bone-deep certainty that somewhere down the line, she’d made a mistake

She shuts her eyes, rolls her head back and forth to work some stiffness out of her neck from sitting with it craned for so long. Holding the crumbled ball of paper in her hand, she points her wand at it and murmurs “ _Prehendo flammas”_

Hermione had taught her the spell, before they’d…

Well, in any case. Harriet can’t quite remember which syllables to stress, but it seems to have worked well enough anyway. The remnants of her letter float in front of her, glowing softly blue.

With a flutter of wings, Hedwig flies down from a perch high in the ceiling to rest on Harri’s shoulder. She gives her a brave attempt at a smile, gently stroking her head. “Hey, girl. No letter today. Sorry.”

Hedwig gives her a gentle nip on the ear as Harri sinks back into her thoughts. She’d spent hours trying to come up with a letter – some arrangement of words that would convey her apology without coming off as annoying and childish – but everything she wrote felt flimsy. 

Just a transparent, desperate attempt to keep Remus from dismissing her entirely. The thought of sending them – of Remus _reading_ them – was mortifying.

 _Stupid_ , she thinks viciously, _god, I’m so stupid!_

Anger laps at her sides, a bright, white heat. Anger at Remus for leaving her alone, and anger at herself for having ever expected anything different.

Before her rage can set in fully, Hedwig gives an alarmed squawk to alert her that the flames hovering over her lap are growing larger, and _much_ , hotter.

In the time it takes Harriet to coax the flames back into something tame, Hedwig has fled back to her original perch, and is looking down at Harriet with reproach.

“Sorry.” She shrugs sheepishly.

Hedwig does not dignify this with a response – rather, she looks at Harriet for another moment before ruffling her feathers and soaring out the window, into the dusky sky.

Harriet almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. _Figures. Not even the owl wants to hang around._

The sun sinks towards the horizon, and curfew is fast approaching, but Harriet doesn’t move except to curl up further against the chilly breeze. The dorms were their own issue. She still hadn’t spoken to Hermione, and for all Ron wanted to insist that it was _good riddance_ , Hermione is her _friend_. Or- she had been?

All Harriet knows for sure is that she misses Hermione terribly, and that she _knows_ that she was right not to back down to Malfoy. But Hermione was making it a point to pretend Harriet didn’t exist when they had to be in the same room together. Lavender and Parvati were nice, and more than happy to include Harri in their conversations, but they didn’t have much in common.

Besides, for all that she is still upset with Hermione, the thought that she’d _lost_ the first friend she’d ever had hurt more than anything else - a dull, persistent ache that seemed to weigh her down.

In short, Harriet isn’t keen on going back just yet.

She’s staring into the little ball of blue flame, trying to see if she can make it bigger or smaller on _purpose_ , when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone standing in the entryway. She’d recognize that bushy hair anywhere.

She very nearly snaps that she’ll be along to the dorms in a _moment_ , she doesn’t need an _escort_ , but bites her tongue at the last minute. _She’s_ not going to be the one to start this fight.

Hermione doesn’t primly announce that _curfew is in thirty minutes, so Harriet really ought to return to Gryffindor Tower_. She doesn’t say anything.

Harriet continues practicing with her flame. _Breathe in, and grow… breathe out, and shrink back down a bit…_ She does her best to ignore the presence of her classmate, even though she can’t help but track her movements in her periphery. After a moment, Hermione moves closer.

Old instincts flare up, and Harriet tenses without thinking about it, before forcing herself to remain still. In her mind, a shrill voice (the same one that made her slip bits of food from the Great Hall into her pockets when no one was looking, _just in case-_ ) screams _off the ledge, away from the window, she might be angry, just in case-_

With some effort, Harriet ignores it. That sort of thing _didn’t happen here_ , and besides, Hermione wasn’t the Dursleys.

“Mind if I join you?”

Harriet nods without really thinking about it, and immediately moves over. The ledge is wide and extends far enough past the window for Harriet to lean her back against the outer wall while Hermione takes up her old spot. Harriet moves the little ball of bluebell flames about halfway between them.

For a few minutes, they sit silently, with nothing but the soft sound of crackling flames. The sun sinks steadily lower, and it occurs to Harriet that if they don’t get a move on soon, they really _will_ miss curfew. Still, Hermione hasn’t said anything about it, so Harriet won’t either.

Had either girl been a bit more observant, they might have noticed a look of guilty conflict on their classmate’s face. As it is, both are too preoccupied with their own internal conflicts to notice the other is gearing up to speak before it’s too late.

“I wanted to say-”

“Hermione, listen-”

They cut themselves off with a chuckle, the ball of bluebell flames sinking lower between them. “Do you want to go?” Hermione asks tentatively.

Harriet swallows, and nods. “Yeah. ‘Mione I- I’m sorry. Not- not about the Malfoy thing, but- I’m sorry about saying you’d jump off a bridge if a rulebook told you to, and- and I _do_ want your advice, even if I don’t agree with it all the time, and I- I never should have said that thing about you-“ Guilt twists her stomach viciously here, and she swallows hard, “About you not, not having friends, that was- I was just trying to make you angry, but I shouldn’t have said it, and I just-“ Harriet blinks hard, and forces herself to meet Hermione’s gaze. Her tawny eyes are warm, and bright, but Harriet still has to resist the urge to look away. “I’m really sorry, Hermione. And if- I mean, if you still _want_ to be friends, then I’d-“

Harriet only has a moment to flick her wand and get the bluebell flames to move before Hermione wraps her in a tight hug. She falls back a bit, and has to throw a hand out behind her to keep from losing her balance, but the brief flood of adrenaline is quickly drowned out by something else.

Harriet can’t quite remember the last time she’d been hugged. But Hermione is warm and solid against her, and it’s something between comforting and _terrifying_ that Harriet’s never really felt before.

“I’m sorry too.” Hermione says once she pulls away, leaving Harriet feeling both relieved and bereft, a reaction that she doesn’t want to sort through at the moment. “I mean, I still don’t think you should have gone after Malfoy, but I shouldn’t have… I was… _mean_ , about it. And I _know_ you aren’t stupid, I just-“ Hermione cuts herself off and bites her lip, clearly thinking hard. When she opens it again, to Harriet’s surprise, she’s laughing. “Harriet, nothing here makes _sense!_ ”

The laugh is a little hysterical, and Harriet cocks her head, concerned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean- I’ve looked through the school rules. Outside of a few obvious things like- like _really hurting_ another student or breaking a Ministry law, expulsion is at the discretion of the head of house and the headmaster! And there are some rules they seem _really_ strict about, but also a lot that they don’t really seem to care about! – like, did you know we’re not _technically_ supposed to do _any_ magic outside of class without teacher supervision? But then McGonagall tells us one of the best ways to get better was practicing, so I just-“ 

She cuts herself off with a sniff, and Harriet is alarmed to see that her eyes are red-rimmed and watery. “I just feel like I _never_ know which rules are _really_ rules, and I- there isn’t any other magic school I can go to! There are only a few others in Britain, and they...” Hermione trails off, twisting her hands together. “They don’t accept muggleborns.” 

A few tears trickle down Hermione’s cheeks, and Harriet is flooded with the urge to _comfort_ , to _fix_ . “And then what am I meant to do? Go back to- to starting fires and exploding lightbulbs every time I get upset? Magic doesn’t just _go away_ if you don’t use it. I know I was awful to you about the duel, and quidditch, but I just- I was _scared_.” She gives a watery laugh, and a helpless little shrug, looking down at her hands. “Not very Gryffindor of me, I suppose.”

Something in Harriet’s mind clicks into place. She remember the thought she’d had earlier, about not needing to be afraid of Hermione. _Hermione isn’t the Dursleys_. 

Hermione doesn’t see rules as things used to hurt people. It was never that she wouldn’t care about someone getting hurt, she just thought… she just thought the rules were the best way to stop that. 

A sharp pang of guilt pokes at Harriet’s chest for ever having compared Hermione to her own family.

Some unfamiliar instinct drives her to reach for Hermione’s hands, but she stops herself at the last minute, leaving her hands resting awkwardly between them. “Y’know I was raised with muggles too.”

Hermione looks up at her, eyebrows raised. “What? But- I read about you, your parents were both-“

“Magic, yeah.” Harriet finishes, “But I was raised with my mum’s family, and she was muggleborn – just like you.” She adds the last as an afterthought, but Hermione sits up a little straighter when she hears it. “And they, uh- weren’t too keen on the magic stuff, so I only found out about all this when Hagrid brought me my letter. But, the point is, I’m learning about all this too.”

“But then why did you go after Malfoy? You really _could_ have been expelled if you’d been caught going out dueling by the wrong teacher.”

“I guess… if I hadn’t, he’d think he could get away with it, y’know?”

“But he did anyway – it’s not like the two of you actually dueled.”

Harriet flushes slightly. “I mean- I guess, yeah. But he still knows that I won’t back down if he’s messing with people. Plus,” She adds with a half-smile, “now he thinks I’m smart enough to avoid dumb traps like that – even if it was mostly blind luck.”

Hermione snorts, but doesn’t let up. “You still could have told a teacher.”

“There weren’t any there!” Harriet protests. “And by the time Madame Hooch would have gotten back, Neville’s remember-ball thingy-“

“Remembrall.”

“Yeah. It already would have been gone. Besides, what would they’ve even done? It was my word against Malfoy’s.”

Hermione gives her a look – like Harriet just forgot one of the letters in the alphabet. “Harriet, we were all there too! We would have backed you up!”

That… honestly never occurred to Harriet, and now that it has, she feels slightly foolish. “Still, though. They wouldn’t have cared – they didn’t see it happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“So I should just _wait_ and find out? And meanwhile Malfoy gets to hurt whoever he wants and no one _cares_ , and he gets a scolding at _most_ , and it just keeps happening until he finally breaks someone nose, or locks them in a closet, or holds their head under-“ Harriet finds herself short of breath, for reasons utterly unknown to her. “I’m not going to wait and hope a teacher will do something about it if it means someone will get hurt in the meantime. I’m _not_.”

Hermione is looking back at her with those warm eyes, realization dawning like she’s just found the answer to a puzzle. It makes Harriet shrink back into herself instinctively. “I still think you should give the teachers more of a chance, but I- I think I understand what you’re saying. And it’s not stupid – I’m sorry for saying it was.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, before something occurs to Harriet. “And, hey, about the- the expulsion thing. For some reason there are a lot of people in this world that think I’m a- a big deal or something. I think it’s kind of dumb, but if they try to expel you over something too, then I’ll leave too, and we can go tell the- the Prophet, right? – we can tell them all about their dumb, inconsistent rules, and figure out how to stop starting fires and turning wigs blue on our own.”

Hermione lets out a surprised laugh, and before they know it, they both fall into a fit of giggles. Harriet’s head falls back onto Hermione’s shoulder by accident, but when she doesn’t immediately pull away, she tentatively lets it rest there. This is better than the hug – easier, and less panic inducing, she thinks. 

After the laughter passes they sit like that for a while, perpendicular. Harriet’s legs dangle off the ledge, and they watch her little ball of bluebell flames float beside them. The paper ball that started it is almost entirely ash now, but it still hovers in a little sphere at the center of the flame. 

As the last slivers of the sun sink down the horizon, Hermione realizes something. “Oh god, Harri- curfew! We’re going to be late, come on!”

Hermione leaps off the edge, and before Harriet can start to worry about falling one way or the other, a pair of hands grab onto her shoulders and haul her back through the window.

She barely has time to right herself before Hermione has retrieved both their bags and hands Harriet hers.

“Come on, I think we have a few minutes, we can make it!”

In a burst of confidence, Harriet gets an idea. She shoots Hermione a smile – Hermione does not know this yet, but it will come to be a smile she adores and dreads. A smile that says _trust me_. “Let’s hurry, then.”

Before Hermione can respond, Harriet grabs her hand and starts sprinting.

“We’re not supposed to- ah!”

They nearly bowl over an older Ravenclaw, and only avoid doing so when Hermione dodges sharply left, dragging Harriet with her.

“What time is it?” Harriet calls breathlessly.

With some difficulty, Hermione tries squint at one of the clocks on the wall as they sprint past. “We’ve got- three minutes, I think.”

“We can make it, come on!”

They’re rounding the corner when their luck runs out, and they make a collision. Well, a kind of collision.

They run straight through one of the ghosts, and the terrible cold water feeling is enough to slow them, but not stop them entirely. However, when the ghost yells at them to _get back here!_ Hermione draws to a stop almost out of instinct. Before she can stop entirely, however, she’s dragged forward by Harriet, who yells “No time, sorry!” over her shoulder. In spite of herself, Hermione feels a hysterical giggle spill out of her.

By the time they reach the portrait hole, they’re out of breath with laughter. In the few moments it takes them to catch their breath, the Fat Lady tuts at them. “Honestly, you two! It’s unseemly for a pair of young ladies like you to be running about like wild animals.”

This does nothing but send them into another fit of laughter, and it takes a few minutes for them to contain themselves enough for Hermione to wheeze out “Alihotsy”, and they stumble into the common room flushed and smiling.

Percy Weasley greets them at the entrance. “Potter, Granger.” He frowns down at them sternly. “You’re nearly ten minutes late.” Hermione goes tense beside her, and before she can think, Harriet opens her mouth.

“It’s my fault. I lost track of time. ‘Mione was just trying to find me to make sure I got back.”

Percy sighs, and herds them over to the side of the room. “Pull out your wands.” He says firmly.

The two of them exchange a confused look before complying. “Watch me.”

He demonstrates a motion with his wand, making a circle in the air, and looks at them expectantly until they mimic him. He gives them a short nod. “Now- repeat after me. _Tempus_.”

As he says it, he waves his wand in a circle like before, and in the air in front of him appears _8:37 PM_ , in neat golden writing. “Now, you two try.”

Harriet doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t think the thrill of doing magic - even small, simple spells that everyone knows – will ever wear off. “ _Tempus!_ ” Her own spiky handwriting appears in the air in front of her, glowing bright white and displaying the same time as Percy’s.

Hermione goes next, a little more carefully. “ _Tempus_.” Harriet can recognize her friend’s impeccable handwriting as it glows a soft blue..

“There.” Percy says decisively. “Now I don’t want to hear about either of you ‘losing track of time’.” He gives Harriet a significant look.

At their nods, he jerks his head towards the stairs. “Now get up to your dorms. Lights out in 20 minutes.”

She and Hermione rush up the stairs whispering about the new spell they’ve just learned. When they walk in grinning, shoulder to shoulder, Lavender and Parvati look up at them, eyebrows raised. Hermione goes spiky and defensive beside her, and Harriet is quick to intercede. “We’re good.”

Lavender smiles, and Parvati sighs and falls back on her bed dramatically. “ _Finally_.”

That night, Harriet sleeps deeply and doesn’t dream. Up in the owlery, the last burned scraps of her letter are picked up by a particularly strong breeze, and are blown out into the night, forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. Listen To Me. yall can rip Good Prefect Percy out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
> man it was hard to write harriet and hermione fighting. both bc it was a very visceral return to my own middle school days and also bc they're my girls and i hate it when they fight :( 
> 
> [tumblr](https://rexcorvidae.tumblr.com/)


	5. september 28th, 1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats that???? its update,,,,,, TWO!!!!
> 
> yeah so hopefully this makes up for the long wait???? again big sorry about that sldfk
> 
> lets find out what remus has been up to.

Remus had actually been making good headway on his response to Harriet before he’d hit a wall.

It worried him that she’d dodged his question about the Dursleys – he couldn’t be sure if it was intentional or not but had a sneaking suspicion that pressing the matter would lead to more of the same. The fact that she’d returned the pictures did nothing to soothe those worries.

Still, it had warmed his heart to see her settling in so well – while wizarding children didn’t have much of a leg up academically, many muggle-borns struggled to adjust to the culture shock, but Harriet (and her friend) seemed to be adapting fairly quickly.

Her complaints about Binns startled a laugh out of him. That had always been a particular point of contention with Lily, and she’d had several rather heated conversations with Dumbledore about it before-

Well, in any case. It made him smile to think of Lily’s daughter inheriting her mother’s old grudge.

More concerningly, it appeared that Harri was not the only one reviving old grudges.

Snape’s behavior – even in the clearly abridged version Harriet had sent him – was… well, _worrying_ didn’t quite cover it.

Remus didn’t blame Snape for still hating James. He had done some truly cruel things to Severus while they were in school. In all fairness, Severus had done plenty of cruel things himself, both to James and to whoever is death-eater cronies pointed him at-

But, no. They weren’t in school anymore, and after all, Snape had spied on Voldemort for their side during the war, hadn’t he? That had to count for something.

If Severus wanted to hate James’s memory, that was perfectly fine. But Remus hadn’t expected him to take it out on Harri – after all, she was Lily’s daughter too, wasn’t she? And they’d been friends for ages before the incident in their fifth year.

Still, Remus had tried to be optimistic. Potions masters were known for being rather stern, after all – even Slughorn had his moments. It was a discipline that could quickly become deadly to the brewer and anyone nearby if handled carelessly, and eleven-year-olds tended to handle most things carelessly. Perhaps it had simply been an… intimidation tactic? To make sure they were all taking the class seriously.

He knew even as he thought it that it was a feeble excuse, and resolved to track the situation over future letters. 

Then, he’d reached the end of her letter. _I don’t mean to be annoying, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about yourself?_

And there it was; the wall he’s been staring down for over a week now.

Here is the issue:

Remus is a liar.

This is not self-loathing, or self-recrimination, it’s a fact. He lies habitually, for a living. To the shop-owners that he scrapes up jobs from in between research projects (“A childhood illness, not contagious, no, it shouldn’t affect my work unless it flares up”), to the rare dates he brings home (“an accident, right after I graduated”), to neighbors (“a family emergency, I’m afraid, I’m moving to be closer to them”).

It was like forcing yourself to wear a shirt that didn’t fit. It might grate on you at first, but eventually, you stop noticing it. He wasn’t _Moony_ when he lied, but who did he have to be Moony for, anyway? Who, that wasn’t dead, or in Azkaban?

And then Harriet had written, ever so polite, asking about her parents.

And that had been wonderful, hadn’t it? Getting to be _Moony_ again, just for a little while. Getting to give her advice, and tell her about her parents, and see the pieces of James and Lily that shone through in her letters.

She is more timid than he’d ever have expected her to be, and there are things she says (and things she _doesn’t_ say) that worry him, but now that he knows he can _do something_ about it.

He’d been mid-response, writing the usual lies without really thinking about it, when it occurred to him that it probably wasn’t wise to lie to her about such basic aspects of his own life if they were going to keep writing.

And there was the rub, the voice of caution in the back of his head finally speaking up-

_Are you going to keep writing?_

It was a harder question than he knew it should have been.

The issue was that this would play out one of two ways.

It might all work out wonderfully. He’d be able offer advice, guidance, make sure she grows up as safe and happy as possible. He would make sure that things with Petunia were… civil, if not idyllic, and he’d see to it that she never has to worry about eating as much as she wants or being left alone on train platforms. He would, in spite of the wolf living in his skin, manage to stick around long enough to see her graduate Hogwarts, at least. He’d get to know her, and know that a piece of the future James and Lily had died fighting for had made it.

Then there was the flipside: it doesn’t. Maybe the wolf finally kills him, and he becomes another person for Harriet to mourn. Maybe she asks (and she will, he _knows_ it) why, if James had been _like his brother_ , he’d never once checked in on her? Why, if her mother had been _his best friend in the world_ , he’d left her in the home of someone who hated her? Why had he left her to grow up alone and ignorant of her parents, her powers?

And what would he say to that?

 _Sorry Hazza, but to be honest at the time I could barely be arsed to get myself out of bed most mornings, let alone take care of a baby, even one that I loved_.

_Sorry, but the man I loved more than anything in the world killed your parents, and if I couldn’t see him for what he was, how could I ever trust myself to take care of you?_

_Sorry, but to be honest after your parents died, I wasn’t planning on living long enough to see the New Year, let alone see you go to Hogwarts_

She would see him for what he was – a selfish coward, a _monster_ – and any fragile trust she had would be shattered.

So, what did he do?

Could he justify the risk of hurting her for the off-chance that things _might_ work out well? Was he even cut out to be… well, _any_ sort of authority figure in her life? And if not, could he live with himself if he became another in a long string of adults who’d let her down?

If the answer is _yes_ , then he needs to step up. He needs to answer her questions, be as honest with her as he can, and needs to dig his heels in about the Dursleys. 

If the answer is _no_ , then his path forward ought to be clear. Tell her that it had been lovely getting to meet her properly, but he really was _quite_ busy, so she should only write to him in the future if there was an emergency. 

She might be hurt, but she was young – within a few months he’d be a sour memory, some stranger that couldn’t be bothered to write more than a handful of letters.

And perhaps that would be better, in the long run. 

Besides, if even _half_ of his fears about the Dursleys were true, Lily and James likely wouldn’t want him anywhere near her _anyway,_ not after he’d let Dumbledore leave her there without a second thought.

Still, he can’t force himself to pick either option. The indecision tears at him. Either way, he does damage. Either way, he becomes another person who has hurt her.

It starts with excuses.

He tells himself he’ll make a decision when he wakes up. Then, when he gets home from work. Before he goes to be. After breakfast tomorrow morning. Then, once he gets paid since he can’t afford the post right now _anyway_.

He plays this game for days, until finally, upon coming home from an exhausting shift to find his half-finished letter sitting expectantly on the table, he just… doesn’t. He puts a heavy volume over it and goes to bed. The next morning, just as he’s dashing out the door for work, Hedwig swoops in long enough to drop another note on his table and swoop out. 

It sends another wave of guilt and anxiety crashing over him, and without thinking about it he drops the note under the heavy volume atop her last letter without reading it, making a vague promise to himself that he’d look at it when he got home.

When he returns that night, bone-weary and exhausted, he drops into bed without giving it a second glance.

Remus was quite adept at ignoring his problems when he put his mind to it, and his skill had only grown sharper as he grew older. Whenever he catches sight of the corner of the letter, or remembers the note that he hadn’t even _read_ yet, he pushes the surge of guilt down quickly and smoothly before forcing himself to pick up a book from the shelf and read until the shadow of _task not done_ recedes entirely.

It’s cowardly, he knows. Cowardly, and absurd, and immature. But this was how he’d survived the last ten years – some habits are hard to break, especially when they’re so very useful.

After a week of pretending he really _does_ forget about it. The guilt prods at him less often, and is easier to silence when he does, with so many other things to worry about. His fridge is empty, he’s out of cigarettes, the landlord is dragging his feet fixing the heater, and the paper thin walls of his apartment make using heating charms without alerting his muggle neighbors is a feat in and of itself.

Time marches on, real life creeps in, and concrete worries are so much easier to focus on than abstract ones.

He might have kept up like that, making his decision without making it at all, had he not been woken on the night before the full by a rapping at his window.

Hedwig glares down at him with her big, yellow eyes, and a groan escapes him without permission. It’s followed quickly by guilt, because it was hardly _Harriet’s_ fault that she wrote to him after he’d _told her_ she was more than welcome.

Hedwig swoops in, a blur of white, before settling on the back of his kitchen chair. It’s only after she lands that he realizes something odd.

She doesn’t have a letter.

He frowns. Looks on the floor, even sticks his head out the window to see if she’d dropped it, but there isn’t a letter to be found.

He looks back to the bird, who hasn’t moved.

“You- You didn’t bring me a letter.”

She stares back at him, unperturbed.

“I don’t have a letter for you right now.”

She blinks at him, looking rather bored.

“Are- are you just… visiting?”

The look he gets is faintly reminiscent of McGonagall.

“… Right.”

It certainly wasn’t unheard of for owls to return to places they’d delivered letters before to hunt, if they were close enough, but he couldn’t imagine why she’d come _here_ , unless…

“Oh! You’re just taking a rest, aren’t you?” If she’d had a delivery south of here, then she’d likely just wanted somewhere familiar to rest.

She doesn’t respond, but Remus nods firmly to himself. Briefly, his eyes fall to his table – to the book there, and the letter resting beneath it.

_Hedwig’s already here, I may as well…_

But the thought was quickly brushed away. He still had time to sneak in a few more hours of sleep before dawn, and besides, if she needed a rest it was hardly fair to send the poor thing off with _another_ delivery.

-

He’s eating his breakfast the next morning, pointedly ignoring the bird’s expectant stare, when there’s a knock on the door.

The days leading up to the full are… trying, even after all these years. His temper is short, his body aches more painfully than usual, and there is a bone-deep restlessness that keeps him from getting any proper rest. Hardly the ideal time for a morning visitor.

He freezes, eyes flicking between the door, and the bird about two and a half feet away from it. “Move,” He hisses to Hedwig, gesturing with his hands, “ _move,_ I can’t have animals here-”

More knocking.

“Remus, dear? Are you home?”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

“Ah- Yes, Mrs. Carmichael! Just a moment!”

Mrs. Carmichael. A lovely woman with only slightly better vision than a one-eyed newt, who was determined that Remus was fated to fall for her great-niece Margot – who would certainly be less than pleased with her great-aunt sharing that she had “terrible taste, poor dear”, and, to her credit, seemed as dedicated to dodging these dates as he was. and was eternally trying to “get you kids together”

(Remus had actually met Margot, once, as he was coming home from the store and she was leaving her aunt’s. After the ensuing five minutes of awkward small talk, he’d privately come to the conclusion that the “bad taste in men” was probably due to not being _attracted_ to them, and had given her a sympathetic nod on his way in.)

In his state, the minor frustration urged him to pounce, to _kill_ . He shoved the urge down viciously and shooed the bird away more aggressively. In doing so, he accidentally grazed her wing. It barely touched her, but she let out a furious _hoot_ and swiped at him with her talons before flying to the counter – still within sight of the door.

Marvelous.

He opens the door, careful to lean against the doorframe just-so to block the view of the rest of the kitchen, and gives his best approximation of a relaxed smile.

“Morning, Mrs. Carmichael.”

“Good heavens! Was that- I could have _sworn_ I heard a bird just now!”

“A bird?” He put on his best innocent face – admittedly several years out of use – but she wasn’t soothed.

“You didn’t hear that? It sounded like it was just outside the door!”

“Hm- oh! It must be my television. Terribly sorry, I’ll go turn it down-”

Remus had barely closed the door halfway when Mrs. Carmichael interrupted. “Oh, never mind that dear. Now, I wanted to check – you said you were free on Sunday, correct?”

He had. “Hm? Oh no, I’m afraid not. My manager moved shifts around yesterday, and I’m needed to cover for someone.”

Mrs. Carmichael frowned. “Are you sure you can’t cancel? I was going to have Margot over to-”

He smiled apologetically. “Afraid not. The shift manager is already cross with me for calling in sick last month.”

“So unfair.” She tutted. “And Margot was so excited too…”.

Remus deeply, truly doubted that. “Terribly sorry. I’m afraid I have to pop off to work soon, but…”

She brightened. “Such a hard worker, dear. Not to worry, I’ll catch you when you get home, and we can reschedule.”

Oh, joy. “Wonderful! Have a good day, then.”

“You too, dear! Don’t work too hard!”

Remus didn’t slam the door in her face, but it was a near thing.

He turned and sighed, sagging against the door with exhaustion.

He gives Hedwig a glare, and points at her with his injured hand. “You need to go back to Hogwarts.” he hisses. “This,” He gestures at her general being, currently glaring back at him from atop the cabinets “is not sustainable.”

-

He doesn’t return home after his half-shift at work – instead, he goes straight to the ministry. No matter how old he gets, no matter how many times he does this, Remus does not think it will get any less grating to walk to the _Department for the Control of Magical Creatures_ through the entrance for “non-humans”. It had faded to an ache over the years, but never really went away.

It doesn’t help that the employees look just as petrified by him as they do every month, despite there being hours until sunset. He does his best to smile, but the bone-deep pain in his joints turns it into a grimace, and he gives up after that.

He grits his teeth while he signs a consent form, which will allow the witch working that night to put a tracking spell on him. This part isn’t _technically_ required, legally, but Remus has a hard enough time keeping a job as it is – the last thing he needs is Aurors showing up during work hours to pester him about _your whereabouts on the last full_ and _can anyone corroborate your claim_ and _have you received any communications from werewolves associated with Fenrir Greyback?_

Once she’s finished and the uncomfortable itch of the tracking spell has settled over him, he makes his way over to the Floos, doing his best to ignore the ministry employees around him. It was almost funny – it might have been, if he were in a better mood – the way they all seemed to go through the same series of expressions when they saw him. Shock and confusion at his scars, the realization of what day it was, and the subsequent fear, like he’ll turn right there in the atrium.

With only hours before moonrise he is restless and edgy, and he has to fight back the urge to snarl back at them. He enters the Floo, and as the flames swirl around him, he reflects that the one benefit of going to the ministry on the full was that it made the rest of the night look better by comparison.

-

He wakes 12 hours later in the cellar of the cabin his parents took him to when he was a boy. He musters the energy to unlock the silver chains binding him before he falls back to the floor and watches the shadows move across the ceiling while blood dries on his chest.

Time always goes fuzzy after a transformation. He isn’t sure how long he lies on the floor, but when the pain has receded enough for him to move, there is cold, gray morning light filtering in, and the blood on the floor has dried. 

He very nearly collapses on the stairs. He - the _wolf_ \- must have been in a particularly foul mood. He does end up collapsing once he makes it upstairs, but manages to more or less on the mattress on the floor. It was an old thing, covered with a nest of slightly moth-eaten blankets and pillows, but it’s embrace was comforting in its familiarity. It meant that the worst of the full was over.

For a while, he drifts in and out of consciousness. At one point he wakes to see the sun setting outside the window, and the next time he’s awake there is bright, cheery midday sunlight shining through. 

When he finally wakes up for real, the cottage is awash in blue light, the sun not quite peaking over the horizon. He’s still in pain, but the edge has faded, and he can stay upright while navigating the cottage. 

He cleans himself up as best he can in the sink, and assesses the damage. Nothing too bad, luckily - nothing on his face. 

There’s a kind of peace in the routines of the full. He folds the blankets and cleans the blood off of the floor, packs away the silver chains and checks the wards , adding to them where they’d started to weaken. It’s lonely, all the way out here, but the loneliness is familiar, and comforting, and almost enough to make up for all the terrible nights he’s spent here.

It’s with the same mix of relief and dread that he floos back to the ministry to get that damned tracking spell removed.

-

He returns to the apartment midmorning, eager to take a hot shower and get some rest in his own bed before returning to work tomorrow.

He’d left the window open when he left, in the hopes that Hedwig would leave when she realized he wasn’t coming back after a few hours. If nothing else, it would give him an excuse to give the landlord if he happened to walk in and see the _very-much-prohibited_ animal in his apartment.

However, she’s still there when he walks in. Perched on one of his bookshelves with her head tucked under a wing, looking up only to glare at him for disturbing her rest with his presence.

Remus sighs heavily and decides that Hedwig is a problem for future-him.

The shower is nearly enough to make him feel human again (if still in a considerable degree of pain), and he’s actually feeling rather content as walks over to his bed.

That’s when he sees it.

There is a dead rat on his pillow.

This cannot stand.

“ _That’s it_.” He snaps at the bird, pointing to the open window. “You need to leave.”

Hedwig is utterly unmoved and doesn’t even deign to uncover her head to look at him.

Perhaps it’s the stress caused by his uninvited guest, but Remus finally snaps, walking over to the bookshelf she’s perched on and giving it a good shake. “For Merlin’s sake, why are you _here_? Doesn’t Harri have letters you should be-”

He pauses as the realization sets in.

 _Who else does Harriet have to send letters_ to _? Petunia? Not likely, if half of what she’s said in her letters is true. And any letters to other muggles would have to go through Vernon and Petunia first, so if Harriet wanted someone outside of her dorm-mates to talk to about… anything, really, then the only person she could write is…_

He sighs, suddenly more tired than he’s been in months. He’d been thinking of himself as a shitty option for Harry to look to for guidance outside of her teachers - it hadn’t occurred to him that he was her _only_ option.

After reading the note she’d sent him, that exhaustion morphs quickly into guilt. How many times had they insisted they needed information “for a school assignment”? He only hopes she’d managed to stay out of _too_ much trouble. And- _quidditch?_ The notion leaves him half-bursting with pride, and half-petrified. His thoughts turn to James before he realizes it, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

 _James,_ he thinks, _Lily, you ought to be here. How can I be the only one left?_

He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it. But still, here he stands. 

His half-written letter sits on the table, where it’s been sitting for- _Merlin_ , nearly three weeks now, and Remus makes a decision.He doesn’t let himself think – doesn’t let himself weigh options, or listen to the eternal voice of caution in his head saying _wait, are you sure, what if-_

He just grabs a quill and an inkpot, sits down, and writes. 

_September 28_

_Dear Harriet,_

_First, let me apologize for my extremely late reply._

~~_I’ve been very busy with wo_ ~~

_I ~~had a minor crisis of conf~~ _ _I’ve had a lot on my mind these last few weeks, as well as a minor bout of illness that I’ve only recently recovered from, and I’m afraid I entirely lost track of time. That’s a poor excuse, but for what it’s worth, it’s not one I intend to have to use again. Still, I am terribly sorry to have gone radio silent on you without explanation - I’m afraid I’ve not set the best example of letter-writing etiquette._

~~_I’m sorry to hear that your first Potions class didn’t go well, but Professor Snape might just_ ~~

~~_I knew Professor Snape while we were in school, and he always had a_ ~~

~~_Perhaps Snape might have simply_ ~~

_I’m so sorry that your introduction to Potions went so poorly. Potions Masters are famous for being rather strict – in their defense, careless mistakes can quickly become deadly for both the brewer and anyone nearby – but_ ~~_Sn_ ~~ _Professor Snape’s behavior seems… overzealous, to say the least. I’ve attached some notes I transcribed from one of my old potions textbooks – hopefully they’ll help cover some beginner mistakes and convince Professor Snape to direct his ire elsewhere. However, if Potions continues to be an issue, please let me know._

_I do hope you don’t let any negative experiences you have here influence your view of the whole discipline – Potions really is a fascinating subject once you get past the beginner levels, and some incredible things can be done with them that other types of magic can’t accomplish. At the risk of sounding like I’m giving you homework, if you’d like I can recommend a few books that look into the potential of the discipline and its scope._

_You should absolutely feel free at this point in your reading, to laugh your head off at the thought of asking for more homework._

_As for your spells being a bit overcharged, don’t worry too much about it. The same thing happened to your mother quite frequently when we were young, and even after we graduated when her temper got the better of her. The best advice I can offer is to practice, but if you’d like a more thorough answer, I’m sure Professor Flitwick would be happy to help. Magical theory is a specialty of his – and I promise, it’s far less daunting than it sounds._

_Congratulations on quidditch! I can’t remember the last time a first year was put on a house team – not since long before your father and I were in school, certainly. Your parents would be so incredibly proud of you – it might have stung your father’s ego a bit, but that would have made your mother all the prouder._

_As to your “defense assignment” - your father had many similar assignments during his tenure at Hogwarts, with rather mixed results. For someone your age, I would recommend checking out “The Greatest Offense” by Sigrid Gerble - more homework, I know. She offers a few useful shield spells in the first few chapters. They won’t block more than the simplest spells, but they will block physical objects - and at your level, any (hypothetical) opponents might be so surprised you can produce a shield they back off entirely._

_You never need to worry about annoying me with questions – I’m always happy to answer them, although I’m afraid I’m not the most interesting subject. My favorite subject in school was Defense Against the Dark Arts, though I was quite fond of Care of Magical Creatures as well. I’m afraid I was never all that good at quidditch - I played keeper for your father a few times when he needed someone to practice against, but I didn’t offer much of a challenge. I am a fan of flying, though I don’t get much opportunity, being around so many muggles._

_To be quite honest, I don’t think I could pick a favorite book if my life depended on it, but it should not shock you to learn that I’m very fond of “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”, if only because it was what got me interested in dark creatures in the first place - though, I admit, it can get a bit dry at times._

_My father is a wizard, but my mother was a muggle. She was a zoologist, and she stumbled across a Boggart in the forest – that’s a kind of creature that feeds on fear – and my father found her shouting it back into its cave. Protocol dictated that he take her back to the Ministry to get her memory of the event erased, but I think he was rather taken with her, and the rest is history._

~~_I was bitten by_~~ _I contracted a disease when I was very young that flares up occasionally, so I find it’s easiest to do freelance research, mostly revolving around dark creatures , particularly those considered “active hunters” - that is, the ones that tend to insert themselves into heavily populated areas to draw in prey. Of course, that makes it sound far more dramatic than it really is - most of my academic work consists of hunkering down in a bush and taking notes on the behavior of Red Caps and then writing up a report on it. In-between projects, I usually pick up muggle jobs - right now I’m working at a grocer’s in London._

_I hope you won’t mind, but I’d like to ask a few questions of my own. What’s your favorite subject, so far? Have your Potions lessons gotten any better since the first one? What’s your favorite thing to do at your aunt and uncle’s house? And, at the risk of copying your friend Hermione: what’s your favorite book._

_Once again, let me apologize for my long silence. I’ll be taking steps to ensure it doesn’t happen again, but should it, do feel free to send a few Howlers my way until I get the memo._

_All my best, as always,_

_Remus_

It wasn't perfect. It was peppered with lies of omissions, details he'd sidestepped neatly after years of practice. But, he supposes as he signs his name, it's something. It's a start.

In a fit of anxiety-fueled bravery, he finds himself penning a second letter:

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_My heartiest congratulations on Gryffindor’s newest seeker. I can only imagine what a flyer she must be to have convinced you to bend the rule about first years on house teams._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus Lupin_

Hedwig is still staring at him when he looks up. At some point she’d realized he wouldn’t be eating the gift she’d left for him, and eaten it herself - which he might appreciate more if he didn’t still have rat blood on his pillowcase. 

Still, he can’t quite be annoyed at her, at the moment. He holds out both letters a little tentatively. “I need you to take the first one to Harriet, and the second one to Professor McGonagall, alright?”

She doesn’t respond, of course, but she does give him a gentle nip on the hand - the same one she’d scratched up a few days ago. 

“Yeah,” He says, voice weak and tired, “thanks.”

She swoops out the window in an instant, both letters clutched in her beak, and Remus watches her go until she’s not even a white smudge against the bright blue, late morning sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a message i sent to rae during editing:  
> [1:04 AM]  
> remus: hedwig please for the love of CHRIST move im not allowed to have animals in my apt  
> hedwig, after remus barely grazes her wing while trying to shoo her away: *miette voice* you HARM hedwig???? you hit her little body like the quaffle????????????
> 
> anyway, news at 11: local werewolf bullied by bird for having trauma-based commitment issues
> 
> [tumblr](www.rexcorvidae.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter up! remus clearly has a pretty sunny view of harriet's life at the dursleys. wonder if that will change anytime soon?


End file.
